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A quick snap where the 
heart lay ” 











WAYEESES, THE WHITE WOLF 


FROM "NORTHERN TRAILS” 


BY 

WILLIAM J. LONG 


WOOD FOLK SERIES 
BOOK VI 



GINN & COMPANY 

BOSTON • NEW YORK • CHICAGO • LONDON 


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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
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JUL 14 1908 

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Copyright, 1905, 1908 

By WILLIAM J. LONG 


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PREFACE 


In the original preface to “ Northern Trails ” the author stated 
that, with the solitary exception of the salmon's life in the sea 
after he vanishes from human sight, every incident recorded here 
is founded squarely upon personal and accurate observation of 
animal life and habits. I now repeat and emphasize that state¬ 
ment. Even when the observations are, for the reader’s sake, 
put into the form of a connected story, there is not one trait 
or habit mentioned which is not true to animal life. 

Such a statement ought to be enough, especially as I have 
repeatedly furnished evidence from reliable eye-witnesses to sup¬ 
port every observation that the critics have challenged ; but of 
late a strenuous public attack has been made upon the wolf story 
in this volume by two men claiming to speak with authority. 
They take radical exception to my record of a big white wolf 
killing a young caribou by snapping at the chest and heart. 
They declared this method of killing to be “ a mathematical im¬ 
possibility ” and, by inference, a gross falsehood, utterly ruinous 
to true ideas of wolves and of natural history. 

As no facts or proofs are given to support this charge, the 
first thing which a sensible man naturally does is to examine the 
fitness of the critics, in order to ascertain upon what knowledge 
or experience they base their dogmatic statements. One of these 
critics is a man who has no personal knowledge of wolves or cari¬ 
bou, who asserts that the animal has no possibility of reason or 
intelligence, and who has for years publicly denied the observa¬ 
tions of other men which tend to disprove his ancient theory. It 

V 


VI 


Northern Trails. Book I 


seems hardly worth while to argue about either wolves or men 
with such a naturalist, or to point out that Descartes’ idea of 
animals, as purely mechanical or automatic creatures, has long 
since been laid aside and was never considered seriously by any 
man who had lived close to either wild or domestic animals. 
The second critic’s knowledge of wolves consists almost entirely 
of what he has happened to see when chasing the creatures with 
dogs and hunters. Judging by his own nature books, with their 
barbaric records of slaughter, his experience of wild animals was 
gained while killing them. Such a man will undoubtedly discover 
some things about animals, how they fight and hide and escape 
their human enemies ; but it hardly needs any argument to show 
that the man who goes into, the woods with dogs and rifles and 
the desire to kill can never understand any living animal. 

If you examine now any of the little books which he con¬ 
demns, you will find a totally different story: no record of chas¬ 
ing and killing, but only of patient watching, of creeping near 
to wild animals and winning their confidence whenever it is pos¬ 
sible, of following them day and night with no motive but the 
pure love of the thing and no object but to see exactly what 
each animal is doing and to understand, so far as a man can, the 
mystery of its dumb life. 

Naturally a man in this attitude will see many traits of animal 
life which are hidden from the game-killer as well as from the 
scientific collector of skins. For instance, practically all wild 
animals are shy and timid and run away at man’s approach. 
This is the general experience not only of hunters but of casual 
observers in the woods'. Yet my own experience has many times 
shown me exactly the opposite trait : that when these same shy 
animals find me unexpectedly close at hand, more than half the 
time they show no fear whatever but only an eager curiosity to 


Preface vii 

know who and what the creature is that sits so quietly near them. 
Sometimes, indeed, they seem almost to understand the mental 
attitude which has no thought of harm but only of sympathy 
and friendly interest. Once I was followed for hours by a young 
wolf which acted precisely like a lost dog, too timid to approach 
and too curious or lonely to run away. He even wagged his 
tail when I called to him softly. Had I shot him on sight, I 
would probably have foolishly believed that he intended to attack 
me when he came trotting along my trail. Three separate times 
I have touched a wild deer with my hand; once I touched a 
moose, once an eagle, once a bear; and a score of times at least 
I have had to frighten these big animals or get out of their way, 
when their curiosity brought them too near for perfect comfort. 

So much for the personal element, for the general attitude 
and fitness of the observer and his critics. But the question is 
not chiefly a personal one; it is simply a matter of truth and 
observation, and the only honest or scientific method is, first, to 
go straight to nature and find out the facts ; and then — lest 
your own eyesight or judgment be at fault — to consult other 
observers to find if, perchance, they also have seen the facts 
exemplified. This is not so easy as to dogmatize or to write ani¬ 
mal stories; but it is the only safe method, and one which the 
nature writer as well as the scientist must follow if his work is 
to endure. 

Following this good method, when the critics had proclaimed 
that my record of a big wolf killing a young caribou by biting 
into the chest and heart was an impossibility, I went straight to 
the big woods and, as soon as the law allowed, secured photo¬ 
graphs and exact measurements of the first full-grown deer that 
crossed my trail. These photographs and measurements show 
beyond any possibility of honest doubt the following facts: 


Northern Trails. Book I 


viii 

(i) The lower chest of a deer, between and just behind the fore¬ 
legs, is thin and wedge-shaped, exactly as I stated, and the point 
of the heart is well down in this narrow wedge. The distance 
through the chest and point of the heart from side to side was, 
in this case, exactly four and one-half inches. A man’s hand, 
as shown in the photograph, can easily grasp the whole lower 
chest of a deer, placing thumb and forefinger over the heart on 
opposite sides. (2) The heart of a deer, and indeed of all rumi¬ 
nant animals, lies close against the chest walls and is easily 
reached and wounded. The chest cartilage, except in an old deer, 
is soft; the ribs are thin and easily crushed, and the spaces 
between the ribs are wide enough to admit a man’s finger, to say 
nothing of a wolf’s fang. In this case the point of the heart, as 
the deer lay on his side, was barely five eights of an inch from 
the surface. (3) Any dog or wolf, therefore, having a spread of 
jaws of four and one-half inches, and fangs three quarters of an 
inch long, could easily grasp the chest of this deer from beneath 
and reach the heart from either side. As the jaws of the big 
northern wolf spread from six to eight inches and his fangs are 
over an inch long, to kill a deer in this way would require but a 
slight effort. The chest of a caribou is anatomically exactly like 
that of other deer ; only the caribou fawn and yearling of “ North¬ 
ern Trails ” have smaller chests than the animals I measured. 

So much for the facts and the possibilities. As for specific 
instances, years ago I found a deer just killed in the snow and 
beside him the fresh tracks of a big wolf, which had probably 
been frightened away at my approach. The deer was bitten just 
behind and beneath the left shoulder, and one long fang had 
entered the heart. There was not another scratch on the body, 
so far as I could discover. I thought this very exceptional at 
the time; but years afterwards my Indian guide in the interior 


IX 


Preface 

of Newfoundland assured me that it was a common habit of killing 
caribou among the big white wolves with which he was familiar. 
To show that the peculiar habit is not confined to any one sec¬ 
tion, I quote here from the sworn statements of three other eye¬ 
witnesses. The first is superintendent of the Algonquin National 
Park, a man who has spent a lifetime in the North Woods and 
who has at present an excellent opportunity for observing wild- 
animal habits ; the second is an educated Sioux Indian ; the third 
is a geologist and mining engineer, now practicing his profession 
in Philadelphia. 

Algonquin Park, Ontario, 
August 31, 1907. 

This certifies that during the past thirty years spent in our Canadian 
wilds, I have seen several animals killed by our large timber wolves. In 
the winter of 1903 1 saw two deer thus killed on Smoke Lake, Nipissing, 
Ontario. One deer was bitten through the front chest, the other just 
behind the foreleg. In each case there was no other wound on the body. 

[Signed] G. W. Bartlett, Superintendent . 

I certify that I lived for twenty years in northern Nebraska and Dakota, 
in a region where timber wolves were abundant. ... I saw one horse that 
had just been killed by a wolf. The front of his chest was torn open to the 
heart. There was no other wound on the body. I once watched a wolf 
kill a stray horse on the open prairie. He kept nipping at the hind legs, 
making the horse turn rapidly till he grew dizzy and fell down. Then the 
wolf snapped or bit into his chest. . . . The horse died in a few moments. 

[Signed] Stephen Jones (Hepidan). 

I certify that in November, 1900, while surveying in Wyoming, my party 
saw two wolves chase a two-year-old colt over a cliff some fifteen or sixteen 
feet high. I was on the spot with two others immediately after the incident 
occurred. The only injuries to the colt, aside from a broken leg, were deep 
lacerations made by wolf fangs in the chest behind the foreshoulder. In 
addition to this personal observation I have frequently heard from hunters, 
herders, and cowboys that big wolves frequently kill deer and other animals 
by snapping at the chest. [Signed] F. S. Pusey. . 


X 


Northern Trails. Book I 


I have more evidence of the same kind from the region which 
I described in “ Northern Trails ” ; but I give these three simply 
to show that what one man discovers as a surprising trait of 
some individual wolf or deer may be common enough when we 
open our eyes to see. The fact that wolves do not always or 
often kill in this way has nothing to do with the question. I 
know one small region where old wolves generally hunt in pairs 
and, so far as I can discover, one wolf always trips or throws 
the game, while the other invariably does the killing at the 
throat. In another region, including a part of Algonquin Park, 
in Ontario, I have the records of several deer killed by wolves 
in a single winter; and in every case the wolf slipped up behind 
his game and cut the femoral artery, or the inner side of the 
hind leg, and then drew back quietly, allowing the deer to bleed 
to death. 

The point is, that because a thing is unusual or interesting it 
is not necessarily false, as my dogmatic critics would have you 
believe. I have studied animals, not as species but as individuals, 
and have recorded some things which other and better naturalists 
have overlooked ; but I have sought for facts, first of all, as zeal¬ 
ously as any biologist, and have recorded only what I have every 
reason to believe is true. That these facts are unusual means 
simply that we have at last found natural history to be interest¬ 
ing, just as the discovery of unusual men and incidents gives 
charm and meaning to the records of our humanity. There may 
be honest errors or mistakes in these books — and no one tries 
half so hard as the author to find and correct them — but mean¬ 
while the fact remains that, though six volumes of the Wood 
Folk books have already been published, only three slight errors 
have thus far been pointed out, and these were promptly and 
gratefully acknowledged. 


XI 


Preface 

The simple truth is that these observations of mine, though 
they are all true, do not tell more than a small fraction of the 
interesting things that wild animals do continually in their native 
state, when they are not frightened by dogs and hunters, or 
when we are not blinded by our preconceived notions in watch¬ 
ing them. I have no doubt that romancing is rife just now on the 
part of men who study animals in a library ; but personally, with 
my note-books full of incidents which I have never yet recorded, 
I find the truth more interesting, and I cannot understand why 
a man should deliberately choose romance when he can have the 
greater joy of going into the wilderness to see with his own eyes 
and to understand with his own heart just how the animals live. 
One thing seems to me to be more and more certain : that we 
are only just beginning to understand wild animals, and it is 
chiefly our own barbarism, our lust of killing, our stupid stuffed 
specimens, and especially our prejudices which stand in the way 
of greater knowledge. Meanwhile the critic who asserts dog¬ 
matically what a wild animal will or will not do under certain 
conditions only proves how carelessly he' has watched them and 
how little he has learned of Nature's infinite variety. 

WILLIAM J. LONG 

Stamford, Connecticut 



















































































































CONTENTS 

Pagb 

Wayeeses the Strong One 

The Old Wolf’s Challenge ...... 3 

Where the Trail begins ....... 9 

Noel and Mooka.. . 21 

The Way of the Wolf. 39 

The White Wolf’s Hunting.77 

% 

Trails that cross in the Snow.101 

Glossary of Indian Names.127 


xiii 



























/ 








FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 

“ A Quick Snap where the Heart lay ” ... 

“The Terrible Howl of a Great White Wolf” 
“Watching her Growing Youngsters” .... 

“ As the Mother’s Long Jaws closed over the Small of the 
“The Silent, Appalling Death-Watch began” . 


Page 

Frontispiece 

. 6 

• 34 
Back” 56 
. 86 


xv 






✓ 






I 




were beating up the Straits to the 
Labrador when a great gale swooped 
down on us and drove us like a scared wild 
duck into a cleft in the mountains, where the 
breakers roared and the seals barked on the black rocks 
and the reefs bared their teeth on either side, like the long 
jaws of a wolf, to snap at us as we passed. 

In our flight we had picked up a fisherman—snatched 
him out of his helpless punt as we luffed in a smother of 
spray, and dragged him aboard, like an enormous frog, at 
the end of the jib sheet—and it was he who now stood 
at the wheel of our little schooner and took her careening 
in through the tickle of Harbor Woe. There, in a deso¬ 
late, rock-bound refuge on the Newfoundland coast, the 





4 


Northern Trails . Book I 


Wild Duck swung to her anchor, veering nervously 
in the tide rip, tugging impatiently and clanking her 
chains as if eager to be out again in the turmoil. At 
sunset the gale blew itself out, and presently the moon 
wheeled full and clear over the dark mountains. 

Noel, my big Indian, was curled up asleep in a 
caribou skin by the foremast; and the crew were all 
below asleep, every man glad in his heart to be once 
more safe in a snug harbor. All about us stretched 
the desolate wastes of sea and mountains, over which 
silence and darkness brooded, as over the first great 
chaos. Near at hand were the black rocks, eternally wet 
and smoking with the fog and gale; beyond towered 
the icebergs, pale, cold, glittering like spires of silver 
in the moonlight; far away, like a vague shadow, a 
handful of little gray houses clung like barnacles to the 
base of a great bare hill whose foot was in the sea and 
whose head wavered among the clouds of heaven. Not 
a light shone, not a sound or a sign of life came from 
these little houses, whose shells close daily at twilight 
over the life within, weary with the day’s work. Only 
the dogs were restless — those strange creatures that 
shelter in our houses and share our bread, yet live in 
another world, a dumb, silent, lonely world shut out 
from ours by impassable barriers. 

For hours these uncanny dogs had puzzled me, a score 
of vicious, hungry brutes that drew the sledges in winter 


5 


JVayeeses the Strong One 

and that picked up a vagabond living in the idle sum¬ 
mer by hunting rabbits and raiding the fishermen’s 
flakes and pig-pens and by catching flounders in the sea 
as the tide ebbed. Venture among them with fear in 
your heart and they would fly at your legs and throat 
like wild beasts; but twirl a big stick jauntily, or better 
still go quietly on your way without concern, and they 
would skulk aside and watch you hungrily out of the 
corners of their surly eyes, whose lids were red and 
bloodshot as a mastiff’s. When the moon rose I noticed 
them flitting about like witches on the lonely shore, 
miles away from the hamlet; now sitting on their tails 
in a solemn circle; now howling all together as if de¬ 
mented, and anon listening intently in the vast silence, 
as if they heard or smelled or perhaps just felt the pres¬ 
ence of some unknown thing that was hidden from 
human senses. And when I paddled ashore to watch 
them one ran swiftly past without heeding me, his nose 
outstretched, his eyes green as foxfire in the moonlight, 
while the others vanished like shadows among the black 
rocks, each intent on his unknown quest. 

That is why I had come up from my warm bunk at 
midnight to sit alone on the taffrail, listening in the 
keen air to the howling that made me shiver, spite of 
myself, and watching in the vague moonlight to under¬ 
stand if possible what the brutes felt amid the primal 
silence and desolation. 


6 


Northern Trails. Book I 


A long interval of profound stillness had passed, and 
I could just make out the circle of dogs sitting on their 
tails on the open shore, when suddenly, faint and far 
away, an unearthly howl came rolling down the moun¬ 
tains, ooooooo-ow-wow-wow! a long wailing crescendo 
beginning softly, like a sound in a dream, and swelling 
into a roar that waked the sleeping echoes and set them 
jumping like startled goats from crag to crag. Instantly 
the huskies answered, every dog breaking out into inde¬ 
scribable frenzied wailings, as a collie responds in agony 
to certain chords of music that stir all the old wolf nature 
sleeping within him. For five minutes the uproar was 
appalling; then it ceased abruptly and the huskies ran 
wildly here and there among the rocks. From far away 
an answer, an echo perhaps of their wailing, or, it may 
be, the cry of the dogs of St. Margaret’s, came ululating 
over the deep. Then silence again, vast and unnatural, 
settling over the gloomy land like a winding-sheet. 

As the unknown howl trembled faintly in the air 
Noel, who had slept undisturbed through all the clamor 
of the dogs, stirred uneasily by the foremast. As it 
deepened and swelled into a roar that filled all the night 
he threw off the caribou skin and came aft to where 
I was watching alone. “ Das Wayeeses. I know dat 
hwulf; he follow me one time, oh, long, long while 
ago,” he whispered. And taking my marine glasses 
he stood beside me watching intently. 


“The terrible howl of the great 
white wolf ” 







7 


Wayeeses the Strong One 

There was another long period of waiting; our eyes 
grew weary, filled as they were with shadows and uncer¬ 
tainties in the moonlight, and we turned our ears to the 
hills, waiting with strained, silent expectancy for the 
challenge. Suddenly Noel pointed upward and my eye 
caught something moving swiftly on the crest of the 
mountain. A shadow with the slinking trot of a wolf 
glided along the ridge between us and the moon. Just 
in front of us it stopped, leaped upon a big rock, turned 
a pointed nose up to the sky, sharp and clear as a fir top 
in the moonlight, and— ooooooo-ow-wow-wow! the ter¬ 
rible howl of a great white wolf tumbled down on the 
husky dogs and set them howling as if possessed. No 
doubt now of their queer actions which had puzzled me 
for hours past. The wild wolf had called and the tame 
wolves waked to answer. Before my dull ears had heard 
a rumor of it they were crazy with the excitement. Now 
every chord in their wild hearts was twanging its thrill¬ 
ing answer to the leader’s summons, and my own heart 
awoke and thrilled as it never did before to the call of a 
wild beast. 

For an hour or more the old wolf sat there, challeng¬ 
ing his degenerate mates in every silence, calling the 
tame to be wild, the bound to be free again, and listening 
gravely to the wailing answer of the dogs, which refused 
with groanings, as if dragging themselves away from 
overmastering temptation. Then the shadow vanished 


8 


Northern Trails. Book I 


from the big rock on the mountain, the huskies fled 
away wildly from the shore, and only the sob of the 
breakers broke the stillness. 

That was my first (and Noel’s last) shadowy glimpse 
of Wayeeses, the huge white wolf which I had come a 
thousand miles over land and sea to study. All over the 
Long Range of the northern peninsula I followed him, 
guided sometimes by a rumor — a hunter’s story or a 
postman’s fright, caught far inland in winter and hud¬ 
dling close by his fire with his dogs through the long 
winter night — and again by a track on the shore of 
some lonely, unnamed pond, or the sight of a herd of 
caribou flying wildly from some unseen danger. Here 
is the white wolf’s story, learned partly from much 
watching and following his tracks alone, but more from 
■Noel the Indian hunter, in endless tramps over the hills 
and caribou marshes and in long quiet talks in the fire¬ 
light beside the salmon rivers. 



/ 


9 













F ROM a cave in the rocks, on the unnamed ^ 
mountains that tower over Harbor Weal 
on the north and east, a huge mother wolf ap- ^ 
peared, stealthily, as all wolves come out of 
their dens. A pair of green eyes glowed steadily like 
coals deep within the dark entrance; a massive gray 
head rested unseen against the lichens of a gray rock; 
then the whole gaunt body glided like a passing cloud 
shadow into the June sunshine and was lost in a cleft 
of the rocks. 

There, in the deep shadow where no eye might notice 
the movement, the old wolf shook off the delicious 
sleepiness that still lingered in all her big muscles. 
First she spread her slender fore paws, working the 
toes till they were all wide-awake, and bent her body 
at the shoulders till her deep chest touched the earth. 




























12 


Northern Trails. Book I 


Next a hind leg stretched out straight and tense as a 
bar, and was taken back again in nervous little jerks. 
At the same time she yawned mightily, wrinkling her 
nose and showing her red gums with the black fringes 
and the long white fangs that could reach a deer’s heart 
in a single snap. Then she leaped upon a great rock 
and sat up straight, with her bushy tail curled close 
about her fore paws, a savage, powerful, noble-looking 
beast, peering down gravely over the green mountains 
to the shining sea. 

A moment before the hillside had appeared utterly 
lifeless, so still and rugged and desolate that one must 
notice and welcome the stir of a mouse or ground 
squirrel in the moss, speaking of life that is glad and 
free and vigorous even in the deepest solitudes; yet 
now, so quietly did the old wolf appear, so perfectly did 
her rough gray coat blend with the rough gray rocks, 
that the hillside seemed just as tenantless as before. A 
stray wind seemed to move the mosses, that was all. 
Only where the mountains once slept now they seemed 
wide-awake. Keen eyes saw every moving thing, from 
the bees in the bluebells to the'slow fishing-boats far 
out at sea; sharp ears that were cocked like a collie’s 
heard every chirp and trill and rustle, and a nose that 
understood everything was holding up every vagrant 
breeze and searching it for its message. For the cubs 
were coming out for the first time to play in the big 


13 


Where the Trail Begins 

world, and no wild mother ever lets that happen with¬ 
out first taking infinite precautions that her little ones 
be not molested nor made afraid. 

A faint breeze from the west strayed over the moun¬ 
tains and instantly the old wolf turned her sensitive 
nose to question it. There on her right, and just across 
a deep ravine where a torrent went leaping down to the 
sea in hundred-foot jumps, a great stag caribou was 
standing, still as a stone, on a lofty pinnacle, looking 
down over the marvelous panorama spread wide beneath 
his feet. Every day Megaleep came there to look, and 
the old wolf in her daily hunts often crossed the deep 
path which he had worn through the moss from the 
wide table-lands over the ridge to this sightly place 
where he could look down curiously at the comings and 
goings of men on the sea. But at this season when 
small game was abundant — and indeed at all seasons 
when not hunger-driven — the wolf was peaceable and 
the caribou were not molested. Indeed the big stag 
knew well where the old wolf denned. Every east wind 
brought her message to his nostrils; but secure in his 
own strength and in the general peace which prevails in 
the summer-time among all large animals of the north, he 
came daily to look down on the harbor and wag his ears 
at the fishing-boats, which he could never understand. 

Strange neighbors these, the grim, savage mother 
wolf of the mountains, hiding her young in dens of the 


14 


Northern Trails. Book I 


rocks, and the wary, magnificent wanderer of the broad 
caribou barrens; but they understood each other, and 
neither wolf nor caribou had any fear or hostile intent 
one for the other. And this is not strange at all, as 
might be supposed by those who think animals are 
governed by fear on one hand and savage cruelty on 
the other, but is one of the commonest things to be 
found by those who follow faithfully the northern trails. 

Wayeeses had chosen her den well, on the edge of 
the untrodden solitudes—sixty miles as the crow flies— 
that stretch northward from Harbor Weal to Harbor 
Woe. It was just under the ridge, in a sunny hollow 
among the rocks, on the southern slope of the great 
mountains. The earliest sunshine found the place and 
warmed it, bringing forth the bluebells for a carpet, 
while in every dark hollow the snow lingered all sum¬ 
mer long, making dazzling white patches on the - moun¬ 
tain ; and under the high waterfalls, that looked from 
the harbor like bits of silver ribbon stretched over the 
green woods, the ice clung to the rocks in fantastic 
knobs and gargoyles, making cold, deep pools for the 
trout to play in. So it was both cool and warm there, 
and whatever the weather the gaunt old mother wolf 
could always find just the right spot to sleep away the 
afternoon. Best of all it was perfectly safe; for though 
from the door of her den she could look down on the 
old Indian’s cabin, like a pebble on the shore, so steep 


i5 


Where the Trail Begins 

were the billowing hills and so impassable the ravines 
that no human foot ever trod the place, not even in 
autumn when the fishermen left their boats at anchor in 
Harbor Weal and camped inland on the paths of the 
big caribou herds. 

Whether or not the father wolf ever knew where his 
cubs were hidden only he himself could tell. He was an 
enormous brute, powerful and cunning beyond measure, 
that haunted the lonely thickets and ponds bordering 
the great caribou barrens over the ridge, and that kept 
a silent watch, within howling distance, over the den 
which he never saw. Sometimes the mother wolf met 
him on her wanderings and they hunted together. Often 
he brought the game he had caught, a fox or a young 
goose; and sometimes when she had hunted in vain 
he met her, as if he had understood her need from a 
distance, and led her to where he had buried two or 
three of the rabbits that swarmed in the thickets. But 
spite of the attention and the indifferent watch which he 
kept, he never ventured near the den, which he could 
have found easily enough by following the mother’s 
track. The old she-wolf would have flown at his throat 
like a fury had he showed his head over the top of 
the ridge. 

The reason for this was simple enough to the savage 
old mother, though there are some things about it that 
men do not yet understand. Wolves, like cats and foxes, 


i6 


Northern Trails. Book I 


and indeed like most wild male animals, have an atro¬ 
cious way of killing their own young when they find 
them unprotected ; so the mother animal searches out a 
den by herself and rarely allows the male to come near 
it. Spite of this beastly habit it must be said honestly 
of the old he-wolf that he shows a marvelous gentleness 
towards his mate. He runs at the slightest show of 
teeth from a mother wolf half his size, and will stand 
meekly a snap of the jaws or a cruel gash of the terrible 
fangs in his flank without defending himself. Even our 
hounds seem to have inherited something of this primi¬ 
tive wolf trait, for there are seasons when, unless urged 
on by men, they will not trouble a mother wolf or fox. 
Many times, in the early spring, when foxes are mating, 
and again later when they are heavy with young and 
incapable of a hard run, I haye caught my hounds trot¬ 
ting meekly after a mother fox, sniffing her trail indiffer¬ 
ently and sitting down with heads turned aside when 
she stops for a moment to watch and yap at them dis¬ 
dainfully. And when you call them they come shame¬ 
faced ; though in winter-time, when running the same 
fox to death, they pay no more heed to your call than to 
the crows clamoring over them. But we must return to 
Wayeeses, sitting over her den on a great gray rock, 
trying every breeze, searching every movement, harking 
to every chirp and rustle before bringing her cubs out 
into the world. 


i7 


Where the Trail Begins 

Satisfied at. last with her silent investigation she 
turned her head towards the den. There was no sound, 
only one of those silent, unknown communications that 
pass between animals. Instantly there was a scratching, 
scurrying, whining, and three cubs tumbled out of the 
dark hole in the rocks, with fuzzy yellow fur and bright 
eyes and sharp ears and noses, like collies, all blinking 
and wondering and suddenly silent at the big bright 
world which they had never seen before, so different 
from the dark den under the rocks. 

Indeed it was a marvelous world that the little cubs 
looked upon when they came out to blink and wonder 
in the June sunshine. Contrasts everywhere, that made 
the world seem too big for one little glance to compre¬ 
hend it all. Here the sunlight streamed and danced and 
quivered on the warm rocks; there deep purple cloud 
shadows rested for hours, as if asleep, or swept over the 
mountain side in an endless game of fox-and-geese with 
the sunbeams. Here the birds trilled, the bees hummed 
in the bluebells, the brook roared and sang on its way 
to the sea; while over all the harmony of the world 
brooded a silence too great to be disturbed. Sunlight 
and shadow, snow and ice, gloomy ravines and dazzling 
mountain tops, mayflowers and singing birds and rus¬ 
tling winds filled all the earth with color and movement 
and melody. From under their very feet great masses of 
rock, tossed and tumbled as by a giant’s play, stretched 


18 Northern Trails. Book I 

downwards to where the green woods began and rolled 
in vast billows to the harbor, which shone and sparkled 
in the sun, yet seemed no bigger than their mother’s 
paw. Fishing-boats with shining sails hovered over it, 
like dragon-flies, going and coming from the little houses 
that sheltered together under the opposite mountain, 
like a cluster of gray toadstools by a towering pine 
stump. Most wonderful, most interesting of all was the 
little gray hut on the shore, almost under their feet, 
where little Noel and the Indian children played with 
the tide like fiddler crabs, or pushed bravely out to meet 
the fishermen in a bobbing nutshell. For wolf cubs are 
like collies in this, that they seem to have a natural in¬ 
terest, perhaps a natural kinship with man, and next to 
their own kind nothing arouses their interest like a 
group of children playing. 

So the little cubs took their first glimpse of the big 
world, of mountains and sea and sunshine, and children 
playing on the shore, and the world was altogether too 
wonderful for little heads to comprehend. Nevertheless 
one plain impression remained, the same that you see 
in the ears and nose and stumbling feet and wagging 
tail of every puppy-dog you meet on the streets, that 
this bright world is a famous place, just made a-purpose 
for little ones to play in. Sitting on their tails in a sol¬ 
emn row the wolf cubs bent their heads and pointed 
their noses gravely at the sea. There it was, all silver 


19 


Where the Trail Begins 

and blue and boundless, with tiny white sails dancing 
over it, winking and flashing like entangled bits of sun¬ 
shine ; and since the eyes of a cub, like those of a little 
child, cannot judge distances, one stretched a paw at the 
nearest sail, miles away, to turn it over and make it go 
the other way. They turned up their heads sidewise 
and blinked at the sky, all blue and calm and infinite, 
with white clouds sailing over it like swans on a limpid 
lake; and one stood up on his hind legs and reached up 
both paws, like a kitten, to pull down a cloud to play 
with. Then the wind stirred a feather near them, the 
white feather of a ptarmigan which they had eaten yes¬ 
terday, and forgetting the big world and the sail and the 
cloud, the cubs took to playing with the feather, chasing 
and worrying and tumbling over each other, while the 
gaunt old mother wolf looked down from her rock and 
watched and was satisfied. 

























• j I H 


















































































. 






- 














* 


' 










21 


i 










































































noon, little Noel and his sister Mooka were 
going on wonderful sledge journeys, meet- 
ing wolves and polar bears and caribou and 
all sorts of adventures, more wonderful by 
far than any that ever came to imagination V 
astride of a rocking-horse. They had a rare 
team of dogs, Caesar and Wolf and Grouch 
and the rest, — five or six uneasy crabs \ 
which they had caught and harnessed to a tiny sledge 
made from a curved root and a shingle tied together 
with a bit of sea-kelp. And when the crabs scurried 
away over the hard sand, waving their claws wildly, 
Noel and Mooka would caper alongside, cracking a lit¬ 
tle whip and crying “Hi, hi, Caesar! Hiya, Wolf! Hi, 
hiya, hiya, yeeee ! ” — and then shrieking with laughter 
as the sledge overturned and the crabs took to fighting 


23 


24 


Northern Trails . Book I 


and scratching in the tangled harness, just like the 
husky dogs in winter. Mooka was trying to untangle 
them, dancing about to keep her bare toes and fingers 
away from the nipping claws, when she jumped up 
with a yell, the biggest crab hanging to the end of 
her finger. 

“ Owee! oweeeee! Caesar bit me,” she wailed. Then 
she stopped, with finger in her mouth, while Caesar 
scrambled headlong into the tide; for Noel was stand¬ 
ing on the beach pointing at a brown sail far down in 
the deep bay, where Southeast Brook came singing from 
the green wilderness. 

“ Ohe, Mooka! there’s father and Old Tomah come 
back from salmon fishing.” 

“ Let’s go meet um, little brother,” said Mooka, her 
black eyes dancing; and in a wink crabs and sledges 
( were forgotten. The old punt was off in a shake, the 
tattered sail up, skipper Noel lounging in the stern, 
like an old salt, with the steering oar, while the crew, 
forgetting her nipped finger, tugged valiantly at the 
main-sheet. 

They were scooting away gloriously, rising and pound¬ 
ing the waves, when Mooka, who did not have to steer 
and whose restless glance was roving over every bay 
and hillside, jumped up, her eyes round as lynx’s. 

“ Look, Noel, look ! There’s Megaleep again watching 
us.” And Noel, following her finger, saw far up on the 


Noel and Mooka 


2 5 


mountain a stag caribou, small and fine and clear as a 
cameo against the blue sky, where they had so often 
noticed him with wonder watching them as they came 
shouting home with the tide. Instantly Noel threw 
himself against the steering oar; the punt came up 
floundering and shaking in the wind. 

“ Come on, little sister; we can go up Fox Brook. 
Tomah showed me trail.” And forgetting the salmon, 
as they had a moment before forgotten the crabs and 
sledges, these two children of the wild, following every 
breeze and bird call and blossoming bluebell and shin¬ 
ing star alike, tumbled ashore and went hurrying up the 
brook, splashing through the shallows, darting like king¬ 
fishers over the points, and jumping like wild goats 
from rock to rock. In an hour they were far up the 
mountain, lying side by side on a great flat rock, looking 
across a deep impassable valley and over two rounded 
hilltops, where the scrub spruces looked like pins on a 
cushion, to the bare, rugged hillside where Megaleep 
stood out like a watchman against the blue sky. 

“Does he see us, little brother?” whispered Mooka, 
quivering with excitement and panting from the rapid 
climb. 

“See us? sartin, little sister; but that only make him 
want peek um some more,” said the little hunter. And 
raised carelessly on his elbows he was telling Mooka 
how Megaleep the caribou trusted only his nose, and 


26 


Northern Trails . Book I 


how he watched and played peekaboo with anything 
which he could not smell, and how in a snowstorm — 

Noel was off now like a brook, babbling a deal of 
caribou lore which he had learned from Old Tomah the 
hunter, when Mooka, whose restless black eyes were 
always wandering, seized his arm. 

“ Hush, brother, and look, oh, look! there on the 
big rock! ” 

Noel’s eyes had already caught the Indian trick of 
seeing only what they look for, and so of separating an 
animal instantly from his surroundings, however well 
he hides. That is why the whole hillside seemed sud¬ 
denly to vanish, spruces and harebells, snow-fields and 
drifting white clouds all grouping themselves, like the 
unnoticed frame of a picture, around a great gray rock 
with a huge shaggy she-wolf keeping watch over it, 
silent, alert, motionless. 

Something stirred in the shadow of the old wolf’s 
watch-tower, tossing and eddying and growing sud¬ 
denly quiet, as if the wind were playing among dead 
oak leaves. The keen young eyes saw it instantly, 
dilating with surprise and excitement. The next in¬ 
stant they had clutched each other’s arms. 

“ Ooooo! ” from Mooka. 

“ Cubs; keep still! ” from Noel. 

And shrinking close to the rock under a friendly 
dwarf spruce they lay still as two rabbits, watching 


Noel and Mooka 


27 


with round eyes, eager but unafraid, the antics of three 
brown wolf cubs that were chasing the flies and tum¬ 
bling over some invisible plaything before the door of 
the den. 

Hardly had they made the discovery when the old 
wolf slipped down from the rock and stood for an 
instant over her little ones. Why the play should stop 
now, while the breeze was still their comrade and the 
sunshine was brighter than ever, or why they should 
steal away into the dark den more silently than they 
had come, none of the cubs could tell. They felt the 
order and they obeyed instantly—and that is always 
the wonder of watching little wild things at play. The 
old mother wolf vanished among the rocks and appeared 
again higher on the ridge, turning her head uneasily to 
try every breeze and rustle and moving shadow. Then 
she went questing into the spruce woods, feeling but not 
understanding some subtle excitement in the air that 
was not there before, and only the two Indian children 
were left keeping watch over the great wild hillside. 

For over an hour they lay there expectantly, but 
nothing stirred near the den; then they too slipped 
away, silently as the little wild things, and made their 
slow way down the brook, hand in hand in the deepen¬ 
ing shadows. Scarcely had they gone when the bushes 
stirred and the old she-wolf, that had been ranging every 
ridge and valley since she disappeared at the unknown 


28 


Northern Trails . Book I 


alarm, glided over the spot where a moment before 
Mooka and Noel had been watching. Swiftly, silently 
she followed their steps; found the old trails coming up 
and the fresh trails returning; then, sure at last that no 
danger threatened her own little ones, she loped away 
up the hill and over the topmost ridge to the caribou 
barrens and the thickets where young rabbits were 
already stirring about in the twilight. 

That night, in the cabin under the cliffs, Old Tomah 
had to rehearse again all the wolf lore learned in sixty 
years of hunting: how, fortunately for the deer, these 
enormous wolves had never been abundant and were 
now very rare, a few having been shot, and more 
poisoned in the starving times, and the rest having 
vanished, mysteriously as wolves do, for some unknown 
reason. Bears, which are easily trapped and shot and 
whose skins are worth each a month’s wages to the 
fishermen, still hold their own and even increase on the 
great island; while the wolves, once more numerous, 
are slowly vanishing, though they are never hunted, and 
not even Old Tomah himself could set a trap cunningly 
enough to catch one. The old hunter told, while Mooka 
and Noel held their breaths and drew closer to the light, 
how once, when he made his camp alone under a cliff 
on the lake shore, seven huge wolves, white as the 
snow, came racing swift and silent over the ice straight 
at the fire which he had barely time to kindle; how he 


Noel and Mooka 


29 


shot two, and the others, seizing the fish he had just 
caught through the ice for his own supper, vanished 
over the bank; and he could not say even now whether 
they meant him harm or no. Again, as he talked and 
the grim old face lighted up at the memory, they saw 
him crouched with his sledge-dogs by a blazing fire all 
the long winter night, and around him in the darkness 
blazing points of light, the eyes of wolves flashing back 
the firelight, and gaunt white forms flitting about like 
shadows, drawing nearer and nearer with ever-growing 
boldness till they seized his largest dog — though the 
brute lay so near the fire that his hair singed — and 
whisked it away with an appalling outcry. And still 
again, when Tomah was lost three days in the interior, 
they saw him wandering with his pack over endless 
barrens and through gloomy spruce woods, and near 
him all the time a young wolf that followed his steps 
quietly, with half-friendly interest, and came no nearer 
day or night. 

All these things and many more the children heard 
from Old Tomah, and among all his hunting experi¬ 
ences and the stories and legends which he told them 
there was not one to make them afraid. For the horrible 
story of Red Riding Hood is not known among the 
Indians, who know well how untrue the tale is to wolf 
nature, and how foolish it is to frighten children with 
false stories of wolves and bears, misrepresenting them 


30 


Northern Trails. Book I 


as savage and bloodthirsty brutes, when in truth they 
are but shy, peace-loving animals, whose only motive 
toward man, except when crazed by wounds or hunger, 
is one of childish curiosity. All these ferocious animal 
stories have their origin in other centuries and in dis¬ 
tant lands, where they may possibly have been true, but 
more probably are just as false to animal nature; for 
they seem to reflect not the shy animal that men 
glimpsed in the woods, but rather the boastings of some 
hunter, who always magnifies his own praise by increas¬ 
ing the ferocity of the game he has killed, or else the 
pure imagination of some ancient nurse who tried to 
increase her scant authority by frightening her children 
with terrible tales. Here certainly the Indian attitude 
of kinship, gained by long centuries of living near to 
the animals and watching them closely, comes nearer 
to the truth of things. That is why little Mooka and 
Noel could listen for hours to Old Tomah’s animal 
stories and then go away to bed and happy dreams, 
longing for the light so that they might be off again to 
watch at the wolfs den. 

One thing only disturbed them for a moment. Even 
these children had wolf memories and vied with Old 
Tomah in eagerness of telling. They remembered one 
fearful winter, years ago, when most of the families of 
the little fishing village on the East Harbor had moved 
far inland to sheltered cabins in the deep woods to 


Noel and Mooka 


3 1 


escape the cold and the fearful blizzards of the coast. 
One still moonlit night, when the snow lay deep and 
the cold was intense and all the trees were cracking like 
pistols in the frost, a mournful howling rose all around 
their little cabin. Light footfalls sounded on the crust; 
there were scratchings at the very door and hoarse 
breathings at every crack; while the dogs, with hackles 
up straight and stiff on their necks, fled howling under 
beds and tables. And when Mooka and Noel went fear¬ 
fully with their mother to the little window — for the 
men were far away on a caribou hunt — there were 
gaunt white wolves, five or six of them, flitting rest¬ 
lessly about in the moonlight, scratching at the cracks 
and even raising themselves on their hind legs to look 
in at the little windows. 

Mooka shivered a bit when she remembered the 
uncanny scene, and felt again the strong pressure of 
her mother’s arms holding her close; but Old Tomah 
brushed away her fears with a smile and a word, as he 
had always done when, as little children, they had 
showed fear at the thunder or the gale or the cry of a 
wild beast in the night, till they had grown to look 
upon all Nature’s phenomena as hiding a smile as 
kindly as that of Old Tomah himself, who had a face 
wrinkled and terribly grim, to be sure, but who could 
smile and tell a story so that every child trusted him. 
The wolves were hungry, starving hungry, he said, and 


32 


Northern Trails . Book I 


wanted only a dog, or one of the pigs. And Mooka 
remembered with a bright laugh the two unruly pigs 
that had been taken inland as a hostage to famine, and 
that must be carefully guarded from the teeth of hun¬ 
gry prowlers, for they would soon be needed to keep 
the children themselves from starving. Every night at 
early sunset, when the trees began to groan and the 
keen winds from the mountains came whispering 
through the woods, the two pigs were taken into the 
snug kitchen, where with the dogs they slept so close 
to the stove that she could always smell pork a-frying. 
Not a husky dog there but would have killed and eaten 
one of these little pigs if he could have caught him 
around the corner of the house after nightfall, though 
you would never have suspected it if you had seen 
them so close together, keeping each other warm after 
the fire went out. And besides the dogs and the 
wolves there were lynxes — big, round-headed, savage¬ 
looking creatures—that came prowling out of the deep 
woods every night, hungry for a taste of the little pigs; 
and now and then an enormous polar bear, that had 
landed from an iceberg, would shuffle swiftly and fear¬ 
lessly among the handful of little cabins, leaving his 
great footprints in every yard and tearing to pieces, as 
if made of straw, the heavy log pens to which some of 
the fishermen had foolishly confided their pigs or sheep. 
He even entered the woodsheds and rummaged about 


Noel and Mooka 


33 


after a stray fishbone or an old sealskin boot, making a 
great rowdydow in the still night; and only the smell 
of man, or the report of an old gun fired at him by some 
brave woman out of the half-open window, kept him 
from pushing his enormous weight against the very 
doors of the cabins. 

Thinking of all these things, Mooka forgot her fears 
of the white wolves, remembering with a kind of sym¬ 
pathy how hungry all these shy prowlers must be to 
leave their own haunts, whence the rabbits and seals 
had vanished, and venture boldly into the yards of 
men. As for Noel, he remembered with regret that 
he was too small at the time to use the long bow 
which he now carried on his rabbit and goose hunts; 
and as he took it from the wall, thrumming its chord 
of caribou sinew and fingering the sharp edge of a 
long arrow, he was hoping for just such another win¬ 
ter, longing to try his skill and strength on some of 
these midnight prowlers — a lynx, perhaps, not to be¬ 
gin too largely on a polar bear. So there was no fear 
at all, but only an eager wonder, when they followed up 
the brook next day to watch at the wolf’s den. And 
even when Noel found a track, a light oval track, larger 
but more slender than a dog’s, in some moist sand close 
beside their own footprints and evidently following them, 
they remembered only the young wolf that had followed 
Tomah and pressed on the more eagerly. 


34 


Northern Trails. Book I 


Day after day they returned to their watch-tower on 
the flat rock, under the dwarf spruce at the head of the 
brook, and lying there side by side they watched the 
play of the young wolf cubs. Every day they grew 
more interested as the spirit of play entered into them¬ 
selves, understanding the gladness of the wild rough- 
and-tumble when one of the cubs lay in wait for another 
and leaped upon him from ambush; understanding also 
something of the feeling of the gaunt old she-wolf as she 
looked down gravely from her gray rock watching her 
growing youngsters. Once they brought an old spy¬ 
glass which they had borrowed from a fisherman, and 
through its sea-dimmed lenses they made out that one of 
the cubs was larger than the other two, with a droop at 
the tip of his right ear, like a pointed leaf that has been 
creased sharply between the fingers. Mooka claimed 
that wolf instantly for her own, as if they were watch¬ 
ing the husky puppies, and by his broken ear said she 
should know him again when he grew to be a big wolf, 
if he should ever follow her, as his father perhaps had 
followed Old Tomah; but Noel, thinking of his bow and 
his long arrow with the sharp point, thought of the 
winter night long ago and hoped that his two wolves 
would know enough to keep away when the pack came 
again, for he did not see any way to recognize and spare 
them, especially in the moonlight. So they lay there 
making plans and dreaming dreams, gentle or savage, 



“ Watching her growing 
youngsters ” 














Noel and Mooka 


35 


for the little cubs that played with the feathers and 
grasshoppers and cloud shadows, all unconscious that 
any eyes but their mother’s saw or cared for their 
wild, free playing. 

Something bothered the old she-wolf in these days of 
watching. The den was still secure, for no human foot 
had crossed the deep ravine or ventured nearer than the 
opposite hilltop. Her nose told her that unmistakably; 
but still she was uneasy, and whenever the cubs were 
playing she felt, without knowing why, that she was 
being watched. When she trailed over all the ridges in 
the twilight, seeking to know if enemies had been near, 
she found always the scent of two human beings on a 
flat rock under the dwarf spruces; and there were 
always the two trails coming up and going down the 
brook. She followed once close behind the two children, 
seeing them plainly all the way, till they came in sight 
of the little cabin under the cliff, and from the door her 
enemy man came out to meet them. For these two 
little ones, whose trail she knew, the old she-wolf, like 
most mother animals in the presence of children, felt no 
fear nor enmity whatever. But they watched her den 
and her own little ones, that was sure enough; and why 
should any one watch a den except to enter some time 
and destroy ? That is a question which no mother wolf 
could ever answer; for the wild animals, unlike dogs 
and blue jays and men, mind strictly their own business 


36 


Northern Trails. Book I 


and pay no attention to other animals. They hate also 
to be watched; for the thought of watching always 
suggests to their minds that which follows, — the hunt, 
the rush, the wild break-away, and the run for life. Had 
she not herself watched a hundred times at the rabbit’s 
form, the fox’s runway, the deer path, the wild-goose 
nest? What could she expect for her own little ones, 
therefore, when the man cubs, beings of larger reach 
and unknown power, came daily to watch at her den ? 

All this unanswered puzzle must have passed through 
the old wolf’s head as she trotted up the brook away 
from the Indian cabin in the twilight. When in doubt 
trust your fears, — that is wolf wisdom in a nutshell; 
and that marks the difference between a wolf and a 
caribou, for instance, which in doubt trusts his nose or 
his curiosity. So the old wolf took counsel of her fears 
for her little ones, and that night carried them one by 
one in her mouth, as a cat carries her kittens, miles 
away over rocks and ravines and spruce thickets, to 
another den where no human eye ever looked upon 
their play. 

“Shall we see them again, little brother?” said Mooka 
wistfully, when they had climbed to their watch-tower 
for the third time and seen nothing. And Noel made 
confident answer: 

“ Oh, yes, we see um again, lil sister. Wayeeses got 
um wandering foot; go ’way off long ways; bimeby 


Noel and Mooka 


37 


come back on same trail. He jus’ like Injun, like um 
old camp best. Oh, yes, sartin we see um again.” But 
Noel’s eyes looked far away as he spoke, and in his 
heart he was thinking of his bow and his long arrow 
with the sharp point, and of a moonlit night with white 
shapes flitting noiselessly over the snow and scratching 
at the door of the little cabin. 



\ 


















































































































































































A NEW experience had come to the little 
wolf cubs in a single night, — the ex¬ 
perience of fear. For weeks they had lain 
hid in the dark den, or played fearlessly in 
the bright sunshine, guarded and kept at 
every moment, day or night, by the gaunt old 
mother wolf that was their only law, their 
only companion. At times they lay for hours 
hungry and restless, longing to go out into 
the bright world, yet obeying a stronger will than their 
own, even at a distance. For, once a wild mother in 
her own dumb way has bidden her little ones lie still, 
they rarely stir from the spot, refusing even to be 
dragged away from the nest or den, knowing well 
the punishment in store if she return and find them 
41 




42 


Northern Trails. Book I 


absent. Moreover, it is useless to dissimulate, to go out 
and play and then to be sleeping innocently with the 
cubs when the old wolf’s shadow darkens the entrance. 
No concealment is possible from wolf’s nose; before she 
enters the den the mother knows perfectly all that has 
happened since she went away. So the days glided by 
peacefully between sleep and play, the cubs trusting 
absolutely in the strength and tenderness that watched 
over them, the mother building the cubs’ future on the 
foundation of the two instincts which are strong in 
every wild creature born into a world of danger, — the 
instinct to lie still and let nature’s coloring hide all 
defenseless little ones, and the instinct to obey instantly 
a stronger will than their own. 

There was no fear as yet, only instinctive wariness; 
for fear comes largely from others’ example, from alarms 
and excitement and cries of danger, which only the 
grown animals understand. The old wolf had been 
undisturbed; no dog or hunter had chased her; no 
trap or pitfall had entangled her swift feet. Moreover, 
she had chosen her den well, w T here no man had ever 
stood, and where only the eyes of two children had seen 
her at a distance. So the little ones grew and played in 
the sunshine, and had yet to learn what fear meant. 

One day at dusk the mother entered swiftly and, with¬ 
out giving them food as she had always done, seized a 
cub and disappeared. For the little one, which had 


43 


The Way of the Wolf 

never before ventured beyond sight of the den, it was a 
long journey indeed that followed, — miles and miles 
beside roaring brooks and mist-filled ravines, through 
gloomy woods where no light entered, and over bare 
ridges where the big stars sparkled just over his ears 
as he hung, limp as a rabbit skin, from his mothers 
great jaws. An owl hooted dismally, whoo-hooo! and 
though he knew the sound well in his peaceful nights, it 
brought now a certain shiver. The wind went sniffing 
suspiciously among the spruce branches; a startled bird 
chirped and whirred away out of their path; the brook 
roared among the rocks; a big salmon jumped and 
tumbled back with resounding splash, and jumped again 
as if the otter were after him. There was a sudden sharp 
cry, the first and last voice of a hare when the weasel 
rises up in front of him; then silence, and the fitful 
rustle of his mother’s pads moving steadily, swiftly over 
dry leaves. And all these sounds of the wilderness night 
spoke to the little cub of some new thing, of swift feet 
that follow and of something unknown and terrible that 
waits for all unwary wild things. So fear was born. 

The long journey ended at last before a dark hole in 
the hillside; and the smell of his mother, the only famil¬ 
iar thing in his first strange pilgrimage, greeted the cub 
from the rocks on either side as he passed in out of the 
starlight. He was dropped without a sound in a larger 
den, on some fresh-gathered leaves and dead grass, and 


44 


Northern Trails . Book I 


lay there all alone, very still, with the new feeling trem¬ 
bling all over him. A long hour passed; a second cub 
was laid beside him, and the mother vanished as before; 
another hour, and the wolf cubs were all together again 
with the mother feeding them. Nor did any of them know 
where they were, nor why they had come, nor the long, 
long way that led back to where the trail began. 

Next day when they were called out to play they saw 
a different and more gloomy landscape, a chaos of 
granite rocks, a forest of evergreen, the white plunge 
and rolling mist of a mountain torrent; but no silver 
sea with fishing-boats drifting over it, like clouds in the 
sea over their heads, and no gray hut with children 
running about like ants on the distant shore. And as 
they played they began for the first time to imitate the 
old mother keeping guard over them, sitting up often to 
watch and listen and sift the winds, trying to under¬ 
stand what fear was, and why they had been taken away 
from the sunny hillside where the world was so much 
bigger and brighter than here. But home is where 
mother is, — that, fortunately, is also true of the little 
Wood Folk, who understand it in their own savage way 
for a season, — and in their wonder at their new sur¬ 
roundings the memory of the old home gradually faded 
away. They never knew with what endless care the 
new den had been chosen; how the mother, in the days 
when she knew she was watched, had searched it out 


45 


The Way of the Wolf 

and watched over it and put her nose to every ridge and 
ravine and brook-side, day after day, till she was sure 
that no* foot save that of the wild things had touched 
the soil within miles of the place. They felt only a 
greater wildness, a deeper solitude; and they never for¬ 
got, though they were unmolested, the strange feeling 
that was born in them on that first terrifying night 
journey in their mother’s jaws. 

Soon the food that was brought home at dawn—the 
rabbit or grouse, or the bunch of rats hanging by their 
tails, with which the mother supplemented their midday 
drink of milk — became altogether too scant to satisfy 
their clamorous appetites; and in the bright afternoons 
and the long summer twilights the mother led them 
forth on short journeys to hunt for themselves. No big 
caribou or cunning fox cub, as one might suppose, but 
“ rats and mice and such small deer ” were the limit of 
the mother’s ambition for her little ones. They began 
on stupid grubs that one could find asleep under stones 
and roots, and then on beetles that scrambled away 
briskly at the first alarm, and then, when the sunshine 
was brightest, on grasshoppers, — lively, wary fellows 
that zipped and buzzed away just when you were sure 
you had them, and that generally landed from an 
astounding jump facing in a different direction, like a 
flea, so as to be ready for your next move. 





46 


Northern Trails. Book I 


It was astonishing how quickly the cubs learned that 
game is not to be picked up tamely, like huckleberries, 
and changed their style of hunting, — creeping,* instead 
of trotting openly so that even a porcupine must notice 
them, hiding behind rocks and bushes and tufts of grass 
till the precise moment came, and then leaping with the 
swoop of a goshawk on a ptarmigan. A wolf that can¬ 
not catch a grasshopper has no business hunting rabbits 

— this seemed to be the unconscious motive that led 
the old mother, every sunny afternoon, to ignore the 
thickets where game was hiding plentifully and take 
her cubs to the dry, sunny plains on the edge of the 
caribou barrens. There for hours at a time they hunted 
elusive grasshoppers, rushing helter-skelter over the dry 
moss, leaping up to strike at the flying game with their 
paws like a kitten, or snapping wildly to catch it in their 
mouths and coming down with a back-breaking wriggle 
to keep themselves from tumbling over on their heads. 
Then on again, with a droll expression and noses sharp¬ 
ened like exclamation points, to find another grasshopper. 

Small business indeed and often ludicrous, this play¬ 
ing at grasshopper hunting. So it seems to us; so also, 
perhaps, to the wise old mother, which knew all the ways 
of game, from crickets to caribou and from ground spar¬ 
rows to wild geese. But play is the first great educator, 

— that is as true of animals as of men, — and to the 
cubs their rough helter-skelter after hoppers was as 


47 


The Way of the Wolf 

exciting as a stag hunt to the pack, as full of surprises 
as the wild chase through the soft snow after a litter 
of lynx kittens. And though they knew it not, they 
were learning things every hour of the sunny, playful 
afternoons that they would remember and find useful all 
the days of their life. 

So the funny little hunt went on, the mother watch¬ 
ing gravely under a bush where she was inconspicuous, 
and the cubs, full of zest and inexperience, missing the 
flying tidbits more often than they swallowed them, until 
they learned at last to locate all game accurately before 
chasing or alarming it; and that is the rule, learned 
from hunting grasshoppers, which a wolf follows ever 
afterward. Even after they knew just where the grass¬ 
hopper was hiding, watching them after a jump, and 
leaped upon him swiftly from a distance, he often got 
away when they lifted their paws to eat him. For the 
grasshopper was not dead under the light paw, as they 
supposed, but only pressed into the moss waiting for 

his chance to jump. Then the cubs learned another 

lesson: to hold their game down with both paws pressed 
closely together, inserting their noses like a wedge and 
keeping every crack of escape shut tight until they had 
the slippery morsel safe under their back teeth. And 
even then it was deliciously funny to watch their 

expression as they chewed, opening their jaws wide 

as if swallowing a rabbit, snapping them shut again 


48 


Northern Trails. Book I 


as the grasshopper wiggled; and always with a doubt in 
their close-set eyes, a questioning twist of head and ears, 
as if they were not quite sure whether or not they were 
really eating him. 

Another suggestive thing came out in these hunts, 
which you must notice whether you watch wolves or 
coyotes or a den of fox cubs. Though no sound came 
from the watchful old mother, the cubs seemed at 
every instant under absolute control. One would rush 
away pell-mell after a hopper, miss him and tumble away 
again, till he was some distance from the busy group on 
the edge of the big lonely barren. In the midst of his 
chase the mother would raise her head and watch the 
cub intently. No sound was uttered that human ears 
could hear; but the chase ended right there, on the 

instant, and the cub came trotting back like a well- 

broken setter at the whistle. It was marvelous beyond 
comprehension, this absolute authority and this silent 
command that brought a wolf back instantly from the 
wildest chase, and that kept the cubs all together under 
the watchful eyes that followed every movement. No 
wonder wolves are intelligent in avoiding every trap and 
in hunting together to outwit some fleet-footed quarry 
with unbelievable cunning. Here on the edge of the 

vast, untrodden barren, far from human eyes, in an 

ordinary family of wolf cubs playing wild and free, 
eager, headstrong, hungry, yet always under control 


49 


The Way of the Wolf 

and instantly subject to a wiser head and a stronger 
will than their own, was the explanation of it all. Later, 
in the bitter, hungry winter, when a big caribou was 
afoot and the pack hot on his trail, the cubs would 
remember the lesson, and every free wolf would curb 
his hunger, obeying the silent signal to ease the game 
and follow slowly while the leader raced unseen through 
the woods to head the game and lie in ambush by the 
distant runway. 

From grasshoppers the cubs took to hunting the 
wood-mice that nested in the dry moss and swarmed 
on the edges of every thicket. This was keener hunt¬ 
ing; for the wood-mouse moves like a ray of light, and 
always makes at least one false start to mislead any that 
may be watching for him. The cubs soon learned that 
when Tookhees appeared and dodged back again, as if 
frightened, it was not because he had seen them, but 
just because he always appears that way. So they 
crouched and hid, like a cat, and when a gray streak 
shot over the gray moss and vanished in a tuft of grass 
they leaped for the spot — and always found it vacant. 
For Tookhees always doubles on his trail, or burrows 
for a distance under the moss, and never hides where he 
disappears. It took the cubs a long while to find that 
out; and then they would creep and watch and listen 
till they could locate the game by a stir under the moss, 
and pounce upon it and nose it out from between their 


50 


Northern Trails . Book I 


paws, just as they had done with the grasshoppers. And 
when they crunched it at last like a ripe plum under 
their teeth it was a delicious tidbit, worth all the trouble 
they had taken to get it. For your wolf, unlike the 
ferocious, grandmother-eating creature of the nursery, 
is at heart a peaceable fellow, most at home and most 
happy when mouse hunting. 

There was another kind of this mouse chasing which 
furnished better sport and more juicy mouthfuls to the 
young cubs. Here and there on the Newfoundland 
mountains the snow lingers all summer long. In every 
northern hollow of the hills you see, from a distance, 
white patches no bigger than your hat sparkling in the 
sun; but when you climb there, after bear or caribou, 
you find great snow-fields, acres in extent and from ten 
to a hundred feet deep, packed close and hard with the 
pressure of a thousand winters. Often when it rains in 
the valleys, and raises the salmon rivers to meet your 
expectations, a thin covering of new snow covers these 
white fields; and then, if you go there, you will find the 
new page written all over with the feet of birds and 
beasts. The mice especially love these snow-fields for 
some unknown reason. All along the edges you find 
the delicate, lacelike tracery which shows where little 
feet have gone on busy errands or played together in 
the moonlight; and if you watch there awhile you will 
surely see Tookhees come out of the moss and scamper 


5i 


The Way of the Wolf 

across a bit of snow and dive back to cover under the 
moss again, as if he enjoyed the feeling of the cold 
snow under his feet in the summer sunshine. He has 
tunnels there, too, going down to solid ice, where he 
hides things to keep which would spoil if left in the 
heat of his den under the mossy stone, and when food 
is scarce he draws upon these cold-storage rooms; but 
most of his summer snow journeys, if one may judge 
from watching him and from following his tracks, are 
taken for play or comfort, just as the bull caribou comes 
up to lie in the snow, with the strong sea wind in his 
face, to escape the flies which swarm in the thickets be¬ 
low. Owl and hawk, fox and weasel and wildcat,— all 
the prowlers of the day and night have long since discov¬ 
ered these good hunting-grounds and leave the prints 
of wing and claw over the records of the wood-mice; but 
still Tookhees returns, led by his love of the snow-fields, 
and thrives and multiplies spite of all his enemies. 

One moonlit night the old wolf took her cubs to the 
edge of one of these snow-fields, where the eager eyes 
soon noticed dark streaks shooting hither and yon 
over the bare white surface. At first they chased them 
wildly; but one might as well try to catch a moonbeam, 
which has not so many places to hide as a wood-mouse. 
Then, remembering the grasshoppers, they crouched 
and crept and so caught a few. Meanwhile old mother 
wolf lay still in hiding, contenting herself with snapping 


52 


Northern Trails. Book I 


up the game that came to her, instead of chasing it 
wildly all over the snow-field. The example was not 
lost; for imitation is strong among intelligent animals, 
and most of what they learn is due simply to following 
the mother. Soon the cubs were still, one lying here 
under shadow of a bush, another there by a gray rock 
that lifted its head out of the snow. As a dark streak 
moved nervously by one of these hiding-places there 
would be a rush, a snap, th z pchappchap of jaws crunch¬ 
ing a delicious morsel; then all quiet again, with only 
gray, innocent-looking shadows resting softly on the 
snow. So they moved gradually along the edges of the 
great white field; and next morning the tracks were 
all there, plain as daylight, telling their silent story of 
good hunting. 

To vary their diet the mother now took them down 
to the shore to hunt among the rocks for ducks’ eggs. 
They were there by the hundreds, scattered along the 
lonely bays just above high-water line, where the eiders 
had their nests. 

At first old mother wolf showed them where to look, 
and when she had found a clutch of eggs would divide 
them fairly, keeping the hungry cubs in order at a little 
distance and bringing each one his share, which he ate 
without interference. Then when they understood the 
thing they scattered nimbly to hunt for themselves, and 
the real fun began. 


53 


The JVay of the Wolf 

Now a cub, poking his nose industriously into every 
cranny and under every thick bush, would find a great 
roll of down plucked from the mother bird’s breast, and 
scraping the top off carefully with his paw, would find 
five or six large pale-green eggs, which he gobbled 
down, shells, ducklings and all, before another cub 
should smell the good find and caper up to share it. 
Again he would be startled out of his wits as a large 
brown bird whirred and fluttered away from under his 
very nose. Sitting on his tail he would watch her with 
comical regret and longing till she tumbled into the tide 
and drifted swiftly away out of danger; then, remember¬ 
ing what he came for, he would turn and follow her trail 
back to the nest out of which she had stolen at his 
approach, and find the eggs all warm for his breakfast. 
And when he had eaten all he wanted he would take an 
egg in his mouth and run about uneasily here and there, 
like a dog with a bone when he thinks he is watched, 
till he had made a sad crisscross of his trail and found a 
spot where none could see him. There he would dig a 
hole and bury his egg and go back for more; and on 
his way would meet another cub running about with an 
egg in his mouth, looking for a spot where no one 
would notice him. 

From mice and eggs the young cubs turned to rab¬ 
bits and hares; and these were their staple food ever 
afterward when other game was scarce and the wood-mice 


54 


Northern Trails . Book I 


were hidden deep under the winter snows, safe at 
last for a little season from all their enemies. Here 
for the first time the father wolf appeared, coming in 
quietly one late afternoon, as if he knew, as he prob¬ 
ably did, just when he was needed. Beyond a glance he 
paid no attention whatever to the cubs, only taking his 
place opposite the mother as -the wolves started abreast 
in a long line to beat the thicket. 

By night the cubs had already caught several rabbits, 
snapping them up as they played heedlessly in the 
moonlight, just as they had done with the wood-mice. 
By day, however, the hunting was entirely different. 
Then the hares and rabbits are resting in their hidden 
forms under the ferns, or in a hollow between the roots 
of a brown stump. Like game birds, whether on the 
nest or sitting quiet in hiding, the rabbits give out far 
less scent at such times than when they are active; and 
the cubs, stealing through the dense cover like shadows 
in imitation of the old wolves, and always hunting up¬ 
wind, would use their keen noses to locate Moktaques 
before alarming him. If a cub succeeded, and snapped 
up a rabbit before the surprised creature had time to 
gather headway, he dropped behind with his catch, 
while the rest went slowly, carefully, on through the 
cover. If he failed, as was generally the case at first, 
a curious bit of wolf intelligence and wolf training came 
out at once. 


55 


The Way of the Wolf 

As the wolves advanced the father and mother would 
steal gradually ahead at either end of the line, rarely 
hunting themselves, but drawing the nearest cub’s at¬ 
tention to any game they had discovered, and then 
moving silently to one side and a little ahead to 
watch the result. When the cub rushed and missed, 
and the startled rabbit went flying away, whirling to 
left or right as rabbits always do, there would be a 
lightning change at the end of the line. A terrific 
rush, a snap of the long jaws like a steel trap, — then 
the old wolf would toss back the rabbit with a broken 
back for the cub to finish him. Not till the cubs first, 
and then the mother, had satisfied their hunger would 
the old he-wolf hunt for himself. Then he would dis¬ 
appear, and they would not see him for days at a 
time, until food was scarce and they needed him 
once more. 

One day, when the cubs were hungry and food scarce 
because of their persistent hunting near the den, the 
mother brought them to the edge of a dense thicket 
where rabbits were plentiful enough, but where the 
cover was so thick that they could not follow the 
frightened game for an instant. The old he-wolf had 
appeared at a distance and then vanished; and the 
cubs, trotting along behind the mother, knew nothing of 
what was coming or what was expected of them. They 
lay in hiding on the lee side of the thicket, each one 


56 


Northern Trails . Book I 


crouching under a bush or root, with the mother off 
at one side perfectly hidden as usual. 

Presently a rabbit appeared, hopping along in a crazy 
way, and ran plump into the jaws of a wolf cub, which 
leaped up as if out of the ground, and pulled down 
his game from the very top of the high jump which 
Moktaques always gives when he is suddenly startled. 
Another and another rabbit appeared mysteriously, and 
doubled back into the cover before they could be caught. 
The cubs were filled with wonder. Such hunting was 
never seen before; for rabbits stirred abroad by day, 
and ran right into the hungry mouths instead of run¬ 
ning away. Then, slinking along like a shadow and 
stopping to look back and sniff the wind, appeared a 
big red fox that had been sleeping away the afternoon 
on top of a stump in the center of the thicket. 

The old mother’s eyes began to blaze as Eleemos 
drew near. There was a rush, swift and sudden as the 
swoop of an eagle; a sharp call to follow as the mother’s 
long jaws closed over the small of the back, just as the 
fox turned to leap away. Then she flung the paralyzed 
animal back like a flash; the young wolves tumbled in 
upon him; and before he knew what had happened 
Eleemos the Sly One was stretched out straight, with 
one cub at his tail and another at his throat, tugging 
and worrying and grumbling deep in their chests as the 
lust of their first fighting swept over them. Then in 



“As the mother’s long jaws closed over 
the small of the back ’’ 














57 


The Way of the Wolf 

vague, vanishing glimpses the old he-wolf appeared, 
quartering swiftly, silently, back and forth through the 
thicket, driving every living thing down-wind to where 
the cubs and the mother were waiting to receive it. 

That one lesson was enough for the cubs, though 
years would pass before they could learn all the fine 
points of this beating the bush: to know almost at a 
glance where the game, whether grouse or hare or fox 
or lucivee, was hiding in the cover, and then for one 
wolf to drive it, slowly or swiftly as the case might 
require, while the other hid beside the most likely path 
of escape. A family of grouse must be coaxed along 
and never see what is driving them, else they will flit 
into a tree and be lost; while a cat must be startled out 
of her wits by a swift rush, and sent flying away before 
she can make up her stupid mind what the row is all 
about. A fox, almost as cunning as Wayeeses himself, 
must be made to think that some dog enemy is slowly 
puzzling out his cold trail; while a musquash searching 
for bake-apples, or a beaver going inland to cut wood 
for his winter supplies of bark, must not be driven, but 
be followed up swiftly by the path or canal by which he 
has ventured away from the friendly water. 

All these and many more things must be learned 
slowly at the expense of many failures, especially when 
the cubs took to hunting alone and the old wolves were 
not there to show them how; but they never forgot the 


58 


Northern Trails. Book I 


principle taught in that first rabbit drive, — that two 
hunters are better than one to outwit any game when 
they hunt intelligently together. That is why you so 
often find wolves going in pairs; and when you study 
them or follow their tracks you discover that they play 
continually into each other’s hands. They seem to share 
the spoil as intelligently as they catch it, the wolf that 
lies beside the runway and pulls down the game giving 
up a portion gladly to the companion that beats the 
bush, and rarely indeed is there any trace of quarreling 
between them. 

Like the eagles — which have long since learned the 
advantage of hunting in pairs and of scouting for game 
in single file — the wolves, when hunting deer on the 
open barrens where it is difficult to conceal their 
advance, always travel in files, one following close 
behind the other; so that, seen from in front where 
the game is watching, two or three wolves will appear 
like a lone animal trotting across the plain. That alarms 
the game far less at first; and not until the deer starts 
away does the second wolf appear, shooting out from 
behind the leader. The sight of another wolf appearing 
suddenly on his flank throws a young deer into a panic, 
in which he is apt to lose his head and be caught by the 
cunning hunters. 

Curiously enough, the plains Indians, who travel in the 
same way when hunting or scouting for enemies, first 


59 


The Way of the Wolf 

learned the trick — so an old chief told me, and it is one 
of the traditions of his people — from watching the timber 
wolves in their stealthy advance over the open places. 

The wolves were stealing through the woods all 
together, one late summer afternoon, having beaten a 
cover without taking anything, when the puzzled cubs 
suddenly found themselves alone. A moment before 
they had been trotting along with the old wolves, 
nosing every cranny and knot hole for mice and grubs, 
and stopping often for a roll and frolic, as young cubs 
do in the gladness of life; now they pressed close 
together, looking, listening, while a subtle excitement 
filled all the woods. For the old wolves had dis¬ 
appeared, shooting ahead in great, silent bounds, while 
the cubs waited with ears cocked and noses quivering, 
as if a silent command had been understood. 

The silence was intense ; not a sound, not a stir in 
the quiet woods, which seemed to be listening with the 
cubs and to be filled with the same thrilling expectation. 
Suddenly the silence was broken by heavy plunges far 
ahead, crash ! bump ! bump ! and there broke forth such 
an uproar of yaps and howls as the cubs had never 
heard before. Instantly they broke away on the trail, 
joining their shrill yelpings to the clamor, so different 
from the ordinary stealthy wolf hunt, and filled with a 
nameless excitement which they did not at all under¬ 
stand till the reek of caribou poured into their hungry 


6o 


Northern Trails. Book I 


nostrils; whereupon they yelped louder than ever. But 
they did not begin to understand the matter till they 
caught glimpses of gray backs bounding hither and yon 
in the underbrush, while the two great wolves raced 
easily on either side, yapping sharply to increase the 
excitement, and guiding the startled, foolish deer as 
surely, as intelligently, as a pair of collies herd a flock 
of frightened sheep. 

When the cubs broke out of the dense cover at last 
they found the two old wolves sitting quietly on their 
tails before a rugged wall of rocks that stretched away 
on either hand at the base of a great bare hill. In front 
of them was a.young cow caribou, threatening savagely 
with horns and hoofs, while behind her cowered two 
half-grown fawns crowded into a crevice of the rocks. 
Anger, rather than fear, blazed out in the mother’s 
mild eyes. Now she turned swiftly to press her excited 
young ones back against the sheltering wall; now she 
whirled with a savage grunt and charged headlong at 
the wolves, which merely leaped aside and sat down 
silently again to watch the game, till the cubs raced out 
and hovered uneasily about with a thousand questions 
in every eye and ear and twitching nostril. 

The reason for the hunt was now plain enough. Up 
to this time the caribou had been let severely alone, 
though they were very numerous, scattered through 
the dense coverts in every valley and on every hillside. 


The Way of the Wolf 61 

For Wayeeses is no wanton killer, as he is so often rep¬ 
resented to be, but sticks to small game whenever he 
can find it, and leaves the deer unmolested. As for his 
motive in the matter, who shall say, since no one under¬ 
stands the half of what a wolf does every day ? Perhaps 
it is a mere matter of taste, a preference for the smaller 
and more juicy tidbits; more likely it is a combination 
of instinct and judgment, with a possible outlook for 
the future unusual with beasts of prey. The moment 
the young wolves take to harrying the deer — as they 
invariably do if the mother wolf be not with them — the 
caribou leave the country. The herds become, more¬ 
over, so wild and suspicious after a very little wolf hunt¬ 
ing that they are exceedingly difficult of approach; and 
there is no living thirig on earth, not even a white wolf 
or a trained greyhound, that can tire or overtake a 
startled caribou. The swinging rack of these big white 
wanderers looks easy enough when you see it; but 
when the fleet staghounds are slipped, as has been more 
than once tested in Newfoundland, try as hard as they 
will they cannot keep within sight of the deer for a 
single quarter-mile, and no limit has ever yet been 
found, either by dog or wolf, to Megaleep’s tirelessness. 
So the old wolves, relying possibly upon past experience, 
keep the cubs and hold themselves strictly to small 
game as long as it can possibly be found. Then when 
the bitter days of late winter come, with their scarcity 


62 


Northern Trails. Book I 


of small game and their unbearable hunger, the wolves 
turn to the caribou as a last resort, killing a few here by 
stealth, rather than speed, and then, when the game 
grows wild, going far off to another range where the 
deer have not been disturbed and so can be approached 
more easily. 

On this afternoon, however, the old mother wolf had 
run plump upon the caribou and her fawns in the midst 
of a thicket, and had leaped forward promptly to round 
them up for her hungry cubs. It would have been the 
easiest matter in the world for an old wolf to hamstring 
one of the slow fawns, or the mother caribou herself as 
she hovered in the rear to defend her young; but there 
were other thoughts in the shaggy gray head that had 
seen so much hunting. So the mother wolf drove the 
deer slowly, puzzling them more and more, as a collie 
distracts the herd by his yapping, out into the open 
where her cubs might join in the hunting 

The wolves now drew back, all save the mother, 
which advanced hesitatingly to where the caribou stood 
with lowered head, watching every move. Suddenly the 
cow charged, so swiftly, furiously, that the old wolf 
seemed almost caught, and tumbled away with the 
broad hoofs striking savagely at her flanks. Farther 
and farther the caribou drove her enemy, roused now 
to frenzy at the wolf’s nearness and apparent cowardice. 
Then she whirled in a panic and rushed back to her 


The Way of the Wolf 63 

little ones, only to find that all the other wolves, as if 
frightened by her furious charge, had drawn farther 
back from the cranny in the rocks. 

Again the old she-wolf approached cautiously, and 
again the caribou plunged at her and followed her lame 
retreat with headlong fury. An electric shock seemed 
suddenly to touch the huge he-wolf. Like a flash he 
leaped in on the fawns. One quick snap of the long 
jaws with the terrible fangs; then, as if the whole thing 
were a bit of play, he loped away easily with the cubs, 
circling to join the mother wolf, which strangely enough 
did not return to the attack as the caribou charged 
back, driving the cubs and the old he-wolf away like a 
flock of sheep. The coast was now clear, not an enemy 
in the way; and the mother caribou, with a triumphant 
bleat to her fawns to follow, plunged back into the 
woods whence she had come. 

One fawn only followed her. The other took a step 
or two, sank to his knees, and rolled over on his side. 
When the wolves drew near quietly, without a trace of 
the ferocity or the howling clamor with which such 
scenes are usually pictured, the game was quite dead, 
one quick snap of the old wolf’s teeth just behind the 
fore legs having pierced the heart more surely than 
a hunter’s bullet. And the mother caribou, plunging 
wildly away through the brush with the startled fawn 
jumping at her heels, could not know that her mad flight 


64 


Northern Trails. Book I 


was needless; that the terrible enemy which had spared 
her and let her go free had no need nor desire to follow. 

The fat autumn had now come with its abundant fare, 
and the caribou were not again molested. Flocks of 
grouse and ptarmigan came out of the thick coverts, in 
which they had been hiding all summer, and began to 
pluck the berries of the open plains, where they could 
easily be waylaid and caught by the growing wolf cubs. 
Plover came in hordes, sweeping over the Straits from 
the Labrador; and when the wolves surrounded a flock 
of the queer birds and hitched nearer and nearer, sink¬ 
ing their gray bodies in the yielding gray moss till they 
looked like weather-worn logs, the hunting was full of 
tense excitement, though the juicy mouthfuls were few 
and far between. Fox cubs roamed abroad away from 
their mothers, self-willed and reveling in the abundance; 
and it was now easy for two of the young waives to 
drive a fox out of his daytime cover and catch him as 
he stole away. 

After the plover came the ducks in myriads, filling 
the ponds and flashets of the vast barrens with tumul¬ 
tuous quacking; and the young wolves learned, like the 
foxes, to decoy the silly birds by rousing their curiosity. 
They would hide in the grass, while one played and 
rolled about on the open shore, till the ducks saw 
him and began to stretch their necks and gabble their 


65 


The Way of the Wolf 

amazement at the strange thing, which they had never 
seen before. Shy and wild as he naturally is, a duck, like 
a caribou or a turkey, must take a peek 'at every new 
thing. Now silent, now gabbling all together, the flock 
would veer and scatter and draw together again, and 
finally swing in toward the shore, every neck drawn 
straight as a string the better to see what was going 
on. Nearer and nearer they would come, till a swift 
rush out of the grass sent them off headlong, splash¬ 
ing and quacking with crazy clamor. But one or two 
always stayed behind with the wolves to pay the price 
of curiosity. 

Then there were the young geese, which gathered 
in immense flocks in the shallow bays, preparing and 
drilling for the autumn flight. Late in the afternoon 
the old mother wolf with her cubs would steal down 
through the woods, hiding and watching the flocks, 
and following them stealthily as they moved along the 
shore. At night the great flock would approach a sand¬ 
bar, well out of the way of rocks and brush and every¬ 
thing that might hide an enemy, and go to sleep in 
close little family groups on the open shore. As the 
night darkened four shadows would lengthen out from 
the nearest bank of shadows, creeping onward to the 
sand-bar with the slow patience of the hours. A rush, a 
startled honk! a terrific clamor of wings and throats 
and smitten water. Then the four shadows would rise 


66 


Northern Trails. Book I 


up from the sand and trot back to the woods, each with 
a burden on its shoulders and a sparkle in the close-set 
eyes over the pointed jaws, which were closed on the 
neck of a goose, holding it tight lest any outcry escape 
to tell the startled flock what had happened. 

Besides this abundant game there were other good 
things to eat, and the cubs rarely dined of the same 
dish twice in succession. Salmon and big sea-trout 
swarmed now in every shallow of the clear brooks, 
and, after spawning, these fish were much weakened 
and could easily be caught by a little cunning. Every 
day and night the tide ebbed and flowed, and every tide 
left its contribution in windrows of dead herring and 
caplin, with scattered crabs and mussels for a relish, like 
plums in a pudding. A wolf had only to trot for a mile 
or two along the tide line of a lonely beach, picking up 
the good things which the sea had brought him, and 
then go back to sleep or play satisfied. And if Wayeeses 
wanted game to try his mettle and cunning, there were 
the big fat seals barking on the black rocks, and he had 
only to cut between them and the sea and throw himself 
upon the largest seal as the herd floundered ponderously 
back to safety. A wolf rarely grips and holds an enemy; 
he snaps and lets go, and snaps again at every swift 
chance; but here he must either hold fast or lose his big 
game; and what between holding and letting go, as the 
seals whirled with bared teeth and snapped viciously iii 


6; 


The JVay of the IVolf 

turn, as they scrambled away to the sea, the wolves had 
a lively time of it. Often indeed, spite of three or four 
wolves, a big seal would tumble into the tide, where the 
sharks followed his bloody trail and soon finished him. 

Now for the first time the wolves, led by the rich 
abundance, began to kill more than they needed for 
food and to hide it away, like the squirrels, in anticipa¬ 
tion of the coming winter. Like the blue and the Arctic 
foxes, a strange instinct to store things seems to stir 
dimly at times within them. Occasionally, instead of 
eating and sleeping after a kill, the cubs, led by the 
mother wolf, would hunt half of the day and night and 
carry all they caught to the snow-fields. There each one 
would search out a cranny in the rocks and hide his 
game, covering it over deeply with snow to kill the 
scent of it from the prowling foxes. Then for days at a 
time they would forget the coming winter, and play as 
heedlessly as if the woods would always be as full of 
game as now; and again the mood would be upon 
them strongly, and they would kill all they could find 
and hide it in another place. But the instinct—if indeed 
it were instinct, and not the natural result of the mother’s 
own experience — was weak at best; and the first time 
the cubs were hungry or lazy they would trail off to the 
hidden store. Long before the spring with its bitter 
need was upon them they had eaten everything, and 
had returned to the empty storehouse at least a dozen 


68 


Northern Trails. Book I 


times, as a dog goes again and again to the place where 
he once hid a bone, and nosed it all over regretfully to 
be quite sure that they had overlooked nothing. 

More interesting to the wolves in these glad days 
than the game or the storehouse, or the piles of caplin 
which they cached under the sand on the shore, were 
the wandering herds of caribou,—splendid old stags with 
massive antlers, and long-legged, inquisitive fawns trot¬ 
ting after the sleek cows, whose heads carried small 
pointed horns, more deadly by far than the stags’ cumber¬ 
some antlers. Wherever the wolves went they crossed 
the trails of these wanderers swarming out of the 
thickets, sometimes by twos and threes, and again 
in straggling, endless lines converging upon the vast 
open barrens where the caribou gathered to select their 
mates for another year. Where they all came from was 
a mystery that filled the cubs’ heads with constant won¬ 
der. During the summer you see little of them,—here 
a cow with her fawn hiding deep in the cover, there a 
big stag standing out like a watchman on the mountain 
top; but when the early autumn comes they are every¬ 
where, crossing rivers and lakes at regular points, and 
following deep paths which their ancestors have fol¬ 
lowed for countless generations. 

The cows and fawns seemed gentle and harmless 
enough, though their very numbers filled the young 
wolves with a certain awe. After their first lesspn it 


6g 


The JVay of the Wolf 

would have been easy enough for the cubs to have 
killed all they wanted and to grow fat and lazy as the 
bears, which were now stuffing themselves before going 
off to sleep for the winter; but the old mother wolf held 
them firmly in check, for with plenty of small game 
everywhere, all wolves are minded to go quietly about 
their own business and let the caribou follow their own 
ways. When October came it brought the big stags 
into the open, — splendid, imposing beasts, with swollen 
necks and fierce red eyes and long white manes tossing 
in the wind. Then the wolves had to stand aside; for 
the stags roamed over all the land, pawing the moss 
in fury, bellowing their hoarse challenge, and charging 
like a whirlwind upon every living thing that crossed 
their paths. 

When the mother wolf, with her cubs at heel, saw 
one of these big furies at a distance she would circle 
prudently to avoid him. Again, as the cubs hunted 
rabbits, they would hear a crash of brush and a furious 
challenge as some quarrelsome stag winded them; and 
the mother with her cubs gathered close about her 
would watch alertly for his headlong rush. As he 
charged out the wolves would scatter and leap nimbly 
aside, then sit down on their tails in a solemn circle and 
watch as if studying the strange beast. Again and again 
he would rush upon them, only to find that he was 
fighting the wind. Mad as a hornet, he would single 


70 


Northern Trails. Book I 


out a cub and follow him headlong through brush and 
brake till some subtle warning thrilled through his mad¬ 
ness, telling him to heed his flank; then as he whirled 
he would find the savage old mother close at his heels, 
her white fangs bared and a dangerous flash in her eyes 
as she saw the hamstring so near, so easy to reach. One 
spring and a snap, and the ramping, masterful stag 
would have been helpless as a rabbit, his tendons cut 
cleanly at the hock; another snap and he must come 
down, spite of his great power, and be food for the 
growing cubs that sat on their tails watching him, 
unterrified now by his fierce challenge. But Megaleep’s 
time had not yet come; besides, he was too tough. So 
the wolves studied him awhile, amused perhaps at the 
rough play; then, as if at a silent command, they van¬ 
ished like shadows into the nearest cover, leaving the 
big stag in his rage to think himself master of all 
the world. 

Sometimes as the old he-wolf ranged alone, a silent, 
powerful, noble-looking brute, he would meet the caribou, 
and there would be a fascinating bit of animal play. 
He rarely turned aside, knowing his own power, and the 
cows and fawns after one look would bound aside and 
rack away at a marvelous pace over the barrens. In a 
moment or two, finding that they were not molested, 
they would turn and watch the wolf curiously till he 
disappeared, trying perhaps to puzzle it out why the 


The Way of the Wolf 71 

ferocious enemy of the deep snows and the bitter cold 
should now be harmless as the passing birds. 

Again a young bull with his keen, polished spike- 
horns, more active and dangerous but less confident 
than the over-antlered stags, would stand in the old 
wolf’s path, disputing with lowered front the right of 
way. Here the right of way meant a good deal, for 
in many places on the high plains the scrub spruces 
grow so thickly that a man can easily walk over the 
tops of them on his snow-shoes, and the only possible 
passage in summer-time is by means of the numer¬ 
ous paths worn through the scrub by the passing of 
animals for untold ages. So one or the other of the 
two splendid brutes that now approached each other 
in the narrow way must turn &side or be beaten down 
underfoot. 

Quietly, steadily, the old wolf would come on till 
almost within springing distance, when he would stop 
and lift his great head, wrinkling his chops to show the 
long white fangs, and rumbling a warning deep in his 
massive chest. Then the caribou would lose his nerve; 
he would stamp and fidget and bluster, and at last begin 
to circle nervously, crashing his way into the scrub as if 
for a chance to take his enemy in the flank. Where¬ 
upon the old w r olf would trot quietly along the path, 
paying no more heed to the interruption; while the 
young bull would stand wondering, his body hidden in 


72 


Northern Trails. Book I 


the scrub and his head thrust into the narrow path to 
look after his strange adversary. 

Another time, as the old wolf ranged along the edges 
of the barrens where the caribou herds were gathering, 
he would hear the challenge of a huge stag and the 
warning crack of twigs and the thunder of hoofs as 
the brute charged. Still the wolf trotted quietly along, 
watching from the corners of his eyes till the stag was 
upon him, when he sprang lightly aside and let the rush 
go harmlessly by. Sitting on his tail he would watch the 
caribou closely — and who could tell what was passing 
behind those cunning eyes that glowed steadily like 
coals, unruffled as yet by the passing winds, but ready 
at a rough breath to break out in flames of fire ? Again 
and again the stag would charge, growing more furious 
at every failure; and every time the wolf leaped aside 
he left a terrible gash in his enemy’s neck or side, 
punishing him cruelly for his bullying attack, yet 
strangely refusing to kill, as he might have done, or 
to close on the hamstring with one swift snap that 
would have put the big brute out of the fight forever. 
At last, knowing perhaps from past experience the use¬ 
lessness of punishing or of disputing with this madman 
that felt no wounds in his rage, the wolf would lope away 
to cover, followed by a victorious bugle-cry that rang 
over the wide barren and echoed back from the moun¬ 
tain side. Then the wolf would circle back stealthily 


73 


The Way of the Wolf 

and put his nose down into the stag’s hoof-marks for a 
long, deep sniff, and go quietly on his way again. A 
wolf’s nose never forgets. When he finds that trail 
wandering with a score of others over the snow, in 
the bitter days to come when the pack- are starving, 
Wayeeses will know whom he is following. 

Besides the caribou there were other things to rouse 
the cubs’ curiosity and give them something pleasant 
to do besides eating and sleeping. When the hunter’s 
moon rose full and clear over the woods, filling all 
animals with strange unrest, the pack would circle the 
great harbor, trotting silently along, nose to tail in 
single file, keeping on the high ridge of mountains and 
looking like a distant train of husky dogs against the 
moonlight. When over the fishing village they would 
sit down, each one on the loftiest rock he could find, 
raise their muzzles to the stars, and join in the long 
howl, Ooooooo-wow-ow-ow! a terrible, wailing cry that 
seemed to drive every dog within hearing stark crazy. 
Out of the village lanes far below they rushed headlong, 
and sitting on the beach in a wide circle, heads all in 
and tails out, they raised their noses to the distant, wolf- 
topped pinnacles and joined in the wailing answer. Then 
the wolves would sit very still, listening with cocked ears 
to the cry of their captive kinsmen, till the dismal howl¬ 
ing died away into silence, when they would start the 
clamor into life again by giving the wolf’s challenge. 


74 


Northern Trails. Book I 


Why they did it, what they felt there in the strange 
unreality of the moonlight, and what hushed their 
profound enmity, none can tell. Ordinarily the wolf 
hates both fox and dog, and kills them whenever they 
cross his path; but to-night the foxes were yapping 
an answer all around them, and sometimes a few ad¬ 
venturous dogs would scale the mountains silently to 
sit on the rocks and join in the wild wolf chorus, and 
not a wolf stirred to molest them. All were more or 
less lunatic, and knew not what they were doing. 

For hours the uncanny comedy would drag itself on 
into the tense midnight silence, the wailing cry growing 
more demented and heartrending as the spell of ancient 
days fell again upon the degenerate huskies. Up on the 
lonely mountain tops the moon looked down, still and 
cold, and saw upon every pinnacle a dog or a wolf, each 
with his head turned up at the sky, howling his heart 
out. Down in the hamlet, scattered for miles along 
Deep Arm and the harbor shore, sleepers stirred un¬ 
easily at the clamor, the women clutching their babies 
close, the men cursing the crazy brutes and vowing all 
sorts of vengeance on the morrow. Then the wolves 
would slip away like shadows into the vast upland 
barrens, and the- dogs, restless as witches with some 
unknown excitement, would run back to whine and 
scratch at the doors of their masters’ cabins. 


75 


The Way of the Wolf 

Soon the big snowflakes were whirling in the air, 
busily weaving a soft white winding-sheet for the 
autumn which was passing away. And truly it had 
been a good time for the wolf cubs, as for most wild 
animals; and they had grown large and strong with 
their fat feeding, and wise with their many experiences. 
The ducks and geese vanished, driving southward ahead 
of the fierce autumn gales, and only the late broods of 
hardy eiders were left for a little season. Herring and 
caplin had long since drifted away into unknown 
depths, where the tides flowed endlessly over them and 
brought never a one ashore. Hares and ptarmigans 
turned white to hide on the snow, so that wolf and fox 
would pass close by without seeing them. Wood-mice 
pushed their winding tunnels and made their vaulted 
play rooms deep under the drifts, where none might 
molest nor make them afraid; and all game grew wary 
and wild, learning from experience, as it always does, 
that only the keen can survive the fall hunting. So the 
long winter, with its snow and ice and its bitter cold 
and its grim threat of famine, settled heavily over 
Harbor Weal and the Long Range where Wayeeses 
must find his living. 
















' 































































































































































































T HREATENING as the northern winter 

was, with its stern order to the birds to * f/ 

depart, and to the beasts to put on their thick 

• • $ 
furs, and to the little folk of the snow to hide 

themselves in white coats, and to all living 
things to watch well the ways that they took, to 
it could bring no terror to Wayeeses and her powerful 
young cubs. The gladness of life was upon them, with 
none of its pains or anxieties or fears, as we know them; 
and they rolled and tumbled about in the first deep 
snow with the abandon of young foxes, filled with won¬ 
der at the strange blanket that covered the rough places 
of earth so softly and made their light footsteps more 
noiseless than before. For to be noiseless and incon¬ 
spicuous, and so in harmony with his surroundings, is 
the first desire of every creature of the vast solitudes. 

79 








8o 


Northern Trails. Book I 


Meeting the wolves now, as they roamed wild and 
free over the great range, one would hardly have recog¬ 
nized the little brown creatures that he saw playing 
about the den where the trail began. The cubs were 
already noble-looking brutes, larger than the largest 
husky dog; and the parents were taller, with longer 
legs and more massive heads and powerful jaws, than 
any great timber-wolf. A tremendous vitality thrilled 
in them from nose to paw tips. Their great bodies, as 
they lay quiet in the snow with heads raised and hind 
legs bent under them, were like powerful engines, tran¬ 
quil under enormous pressure; and when they rose the 
movement was like the quick snap of a steel spring. 
Indeed, half the ordinary movements of Wayeeses are 
so quick that the eye cannot follow them. One instant 
a wolf would be lying flat on his side, his long legs out¬ 
stretched on the moss, his eyes closed in the sleepy 
sunshine, his body limp as a hound’s after a fox chase; 
the next instant, like the click and blink of a camera 
shutter, he would be standing alert on all four feet, 
questioning the passing breeze or looking intently into 
your eyes; and you could not imagine, much less follow, 
the recoil of twenty big electric muscles that at some 
subtle warning had snapped him automatically from one 
position to the other. They were all snow-white, with 
long thick hair and a heavy mane that added enor¬ 
mously to their imposing appearance; and they carried 


8i 


The White Wolf's Hunting 

their bushy tails almost straight out as they trotted 
along, with a slight crook near the body, — the true 
wolf sign that still reappears in many collies to tell a 
degenerate race of a noble ancestry. 

After the first deep snows the family separated, led 
by their growing hunger and by the difficulty of finding 
enough game in one cover to supply all their needs. 
The mother and the smallest cub remained together; 
the two larger cubs ranged on the other side of the 
mountain, beating the bush and hunting into each 
other’s mouth, as they had been trained to do; while 
the big he-wolf hunted successfully by himself, as he 
had done for years. Scattered as they were, they still 
kept track of each other faithfully, and in a casual way 
looked after one another’s needs. Wherever he was, a 
wolf seemed to know by instinct where his fellows were 
hunting many miles away. When in doubt he had only 
to mount the highest hill and give the rallying cry, 
which carried an enormous distance in the still cold air, 
to bring the pack swiftly and silently about him. 

At times, when the cubs were hungry after a two- 
days fast, they would hear, faint and far away, the food 
cry, yap-yap-yooo ! yap-yop-yoooooo ! quivering under the 
stars in the tense early-morning air, and would dart 
away to find game freshly killed by one of the old 
wolves awaiting them. Again, at nightfall, a cub’s 
hunting cry, ooooo , ow-ow ! ooooo, ow-ow ! a deep, almost 


82 


Northern Trails. Book I 


musical hoot with two short barks at the end, would 
come singing down from the uplands; and the wolves, 
leaving instantly the game they were following, would 
hasten up to find the two cubs herding a caribou in a 
cleft of the rocks, — a young caribou that had lost his 
mother at the hands of the hunters, and that did not 
know how to take care of himself. And one of the cubs 
would hold him there, sitting on his tail in front of the 
caribou to prevent his escape, while the other cub called 
the wolves away from their own hunting to come and 
join the feast. 

Whether this were a conscious attempt to spare the 
game, or to alarm it as little as need be, it is impossible 
to say. Certainly the wolves know, better apparently than 
men, that persistent hunting destroys its own object, and 
that caribou especially, when much alarmed by dogs or 
wolves or men, will take the alarm quickly, and the scat¬ 
tered herds, moved by a common impulse of danger, will 
trail far away to other ranges. That is why the wolf, 
unlike the less intelligent dog, hunts always in a silent, 
stealthy, unobtrusive way; and why he stops hunting 
and goes away the instant his own hunger is satisfied 
or another wolf kills enough for all. And that is also 
the probable reason why he lets the deer alone as long 
as he can find any other game. 

This same intelligent provision was shown in another 
curious way. When a wolf in his wide ranging found a 


83 


The White Wolf's Himting 

good hunting-ground where small game was plentiful, 
he would snap up a rabbit silently, in the twilight and 
then go far away, perhaps to join the other cubs in a 
gambol, or to follow them to the cliffs over a fishing 
village and set all the dogs to howling. By day he 
would lie close in some thick cover, miles away from 
his hunting-ground. At twilight he would steal back 
and hunt quietly, just long enough to get his game, 
and then trot away again, leaving the cover as unharried 
as if there were not a wolf in the whole neighborhood. 

Such a good hunting-ground cannot long remain 
hidden from other prowlers in the wilderness; and 
Wayeeses, who was keeping his discovery to himself, 
would soon cross the trail of a certain old fox returning 
day after day to the same good covers. No two foxes, 
nor mice, nor men, nor any other two animals for that 
matter, ever leave the same scent, — any old hound, 
which will hold steadily to one fox though a dozen 
others cross or cover his trail, will show you that plainly 
in a day’s hunting,—and the wolf would soon know 
surely that the same fox was poaching every night on 
his own preserves while he was away. To a casual, 
wandering hunter he paid no attention; but this cun¬ 
ning poacher must be laid by the heels, else there would 
not be a single rabbit left in the cover. So Wayeeses, 
instead of hunting himself at twilight when the rabbits 
are stirring, would wait till midday, when the sun is 


8 4 


Northern Trails. Book I 


warm and foxes are sleepy, and then come back to find 
the poacher’s trail and follow it to where Eleemos was 
resting for the day in a sunny opening in the scrub. 
There Wayeeses would steal upon him from behind and 
put an end to his poaching; or else, if the fox used the 
same nest daily, as is often the case when he is not 
disturbed, the wolf would circle the scrub warily to find 
the path by which Eleemos usually came out on his 
night’s hunting. When he found that out Wayeeses 
would dart away in the long, rolling gallop that carries 
a wolf swiftly over the roughest country without fatigue. 
In an hour or two he would be back again with another 
wolf. Then Eleemos, dozing away in the winter sun¬ 
shine, would hear an unusual racket in the scrub behind 
him, — some heavy animal brushing about heedlessly 
and sniffing loudly at a cold trail. No wolf certainly, 
for a wolf makes no noise. So Eleemos would get down 
from his warm rock and slip away, stopping to look 
back and listen jauntily to the clumsy brute behind him, 
till he ran plump into the jaws of the other wolf that 
was watching alert and silent beside the runway. 

When the snows were deep and soft the wolves took 
to hunting the lynxes,— big, savage, long-clawed fighters 
that swarm in the interior of Newfoundland and play 
havoc with the small game. For a single lynx the wolves 
hunted in pairs, trailing the big prowler stealthily and 
rushing upon him from behind with a fierce uproar to 


85 


The White Wolf's Hunting 

startle the wits out of his stupid head and send him off 
headlong, as cats go, before he knew what was after 
him. Away he would go in mighty jumps, sinking 
shoulder deep, often indeed up to his tufted ears, at 
every plunge. After him raced the wolves, running 
lightly and taking advantage of the holes he had made 
in the soft snow, till a swift snap in his flank brought 
Upweekis up with a ferocious snarl to tear in pieces 
his pursuers. 

Then began as savage a bit of fighting as the woods 
ever witness, teeth against talons, wolf cunning against 
cat ferocity. Crouched in the snow, spitting and snarl¬ 
ing, his teeth bared and round eyes blazing and long 
claws aching to close in a death grip, Upweekis waited 
impatient as a fury for the rush. He is an ugly fighter; 
but he must always get close, gripping his enemy with 
teeth and fore claws while the hind claws get in their 
deadly work, kicking downward in powerful spasmodic 
blows and ripping everything before them. A dog would 
rush in now and be torn to pieces; but not so the wolves. 
Dancing lightly about the big lynx they would watch 
their chance to leap and snap, sometimes avoiding the 
blow of the swift paw with its terrible claws, and some¬ 
times catching it on their heavy manes; but always a 
long red mark showed on the lynx’s silver fur as the 
wolves’ teeth clicked with the voice of a steel trap and 
they leaped aside without serious injury. As the big cat 


86 


Northern Trails. Book I 


grew blind in his fury they would seize their chance like 
a flash and leap together; one pair of long jaws would 
close hard on the spine behind the tufted ears; another 
pair would grip a hind leg, while the wolves sprang 
apart and braced to hold. Then the fight was all over; 
and the moose birds, in pairs, came flitting in silently to 
see if there were not a few unconsidered trifles of the 
feast for them to dispose of. 

Occasionally, at nightfall, the wolves’ hunting cry 
would ring out of the woods as one of the cubs discov¬ 
ered three or four of the lynxes growling horribly over 
some game they had pulled down together. For Up- 
weekis too, though generally a solitary fellow, often 
roams with a savage band of freebooters to hunt the 
larger animals in the bitter winter weather. No young 
wolf would ever run into one of these bands alone; but 
when the pack rolled in upon them like a tempest the 
lynxes would leap squalling away in a blind rush; and 
the two big wolves, cutting in from the ends of the charg¬ 
ing line, would turn a lynx kit deftly aside for the cubs 
to hold. Then another for themselves, and the hunt was 
over, — all but the feast at the end of it. 

When a big and cunning lynx took to a tree at the 
first alarm the wolves would go aside to leeward, where 
Upweekis could not see them, but where their noses 
told them perfectly all that he was doing. Then began 
the long game of patience, the wolves waiting for the 



The silent, appalling death 
watch began ” 









































































87 


The White Wolf's Hunting 

game to come down, and the lynx waiting for the wolves 
to go away. Upweekis was at a disadvantage, for he 
could not see when he had won; and he generally came 
down in an hour or two, only to find the wolves hot on 
his trail before he had taken a dozen jumps. Whereupon 
he took to another tree and the game began again. 

When the night was exceeding cold — and one who 
has not felt it can hardly imagine the bitter, killing in¬ 
tensity of a northern midnight in February—the wolves, 
instead of going away, would wait under the tree in 
which the lynx had taken refuge, and the silent, appall¬ 
ing death-watch began. A lynx, though heavily furred, 
cannot long remain exposed in the intense cold without 
moving. Moreover he must grip the branch on which 
he sits more or less firmly with his claws, to keep from 
falling; and the tense muscles, which flex the long claws 
to drive them into the wood, soon grow weary and numb 
in the bitter frost. The wolves meanwhile trot about to 
keep warm; while the stupid cat sits in one spot slowly 
perishing, and never thinks of running up and down the 
tree to keep himself alive. The feet grow benumbed 
at last, powerless to hold on any longer, and the lynx 
tumbles off into the wolves’ jaws; or else, knowing the 
danger, he leaps for the nearest wolf and dies fighting. 

Spite of the killing cold, the problem of keeping warm 
was to the wolves always a simple one. Moving along 
through the winter night, always on a swift, silent trot, 


88 


Northern Trails. Book I 


they picked up what game came in their way, and 
scarcely felt the eager cold that nipped at their ears, 
or the wind, keen as an icicle, that strove to penetrate 
the shaggy white coats that covered them. When their 
hunger was satisfied, or when the late day came and 
found them still hunting hopefully, they would push 
their way into the thick scrub from one of the numerous 
paths and lie down on a nest of leaves, which even in 
midwinter were dry as if no snow or rain had ever fallen. 
There, where no wind or gale however strong could pen¬ 
etrate, and with the snow filling the low branches over¬ 
head and piled over them in a soft, warm blanket three 
feet thick, they would push their sensitive noses into 
their own thick fur to keep them warm, and sleep com¬ 
fortably till the early twilight came and called them out 
again to the hunting. 

At times, when not near the scrub, they would burrow 
deep into a great drift of snow and sleep in the warmest 
kind of a nest, — a trick that the husky dogs, which are 
but wolves of yesterday, still remember. Like all wild 
animals, they felt the coming of a storm long before the 
first white flakes began to whirl in the air; and when a 
great storm threatened they would lie down to sleep 
in a cave, or a cranny of the rocks, and let the drifts pile 
soft and warm over them. However long the storm, 
they never stirred abroad; partly for their own comfort, 
partly because all game lies hid at such times and it is 


&9 


The White Wolf's Hunting 

practically impossible, even for a wolf, to find it. When 
a wolf has fed full he can go a week without eating and 
suffer no great discomfort. So Wayeeses would lie close 
and warm while the snow piled deep around him and the 
gale raged over the sea and mountains, but passed unfelt 
and unheeded over his head. Then, when the storm was 
over, he pawed his way up through the drift and came 
out in a new, bright world, where the game, with appe¬ 
tites sharpened by the long fast, was already stirring 
briskly in every covert. 

When March came, the bitterest month of all for the 
Wood Folk, even Wayeeses was often hard pressed to 
find a living. Small game grew scarce and very wild; 
the caribou had wandered far away to other ranges; and 
the cubs would dig for hours after a mouse, or stalk a 
snowbird, or wait with endless patience for a red squirrel 
to stop his chatter and come down to search under the 
snow for a fir cone that he had hidden there in the good 
autumn days. And once, when the hunger within was 
more nipping than the eager cold without, one of the 
cubs found a bear sleeping in his winter den among 
the rocks. With a sharp hunting cry, that sang like a 
bullet over the frozen wastes, he called the whole pack 
about him. While the rest lay in hiding the old he-wolf 
approached warily and scratched Mooween out of his 
den, and then ran away to entice the big brute into the 
open ground, where the pack rolled in upon him and 


90 


Northern Trails. Book I 


killed him in a terrible fight before he had fairly shaken 
the sleep out of his eyes. 

Old Tomah, the trapper, was abroad now, taking ad¬ 
vantage of the spring hunger. The wolves often crossed 
his snow-shoe trail, or followed it swiftly to see whither 
it led. For a wolf, like a farm dog, is never satisfied till 
he knows the ways of every living thing that crosses his 
range. Following the broad trail Wayeeses would find 
here a trapped animal, struggling desperately with the 
clog and the cruel gripping teeth, there the flayed carcass 
of a lynx or an otter, and yonder the leg of a dog or a 
piece of caribou meat hung by a cord over a runway, 
with the snow disturbed beneath it where the deadly 
trap was hidden. One glance, or a sniff at a distance, 
was enough for the wolf. Lynxes do not go about the 
range without their skins, and meat does not naturally 
hang on trees; so Wayeeses, knowing all the ways of 
the woods, would ignore these baits absolutely. Never¬ 
theless he followed the snow-shoe trails until he knew 
where every unnatural thing lay hidden; and no matter 
how hungry he was, or how cunningly the old Indian 
hid his devices, or however deep the new snow covered 
all traces of man’s work, Wayeeses passed by on the 
other side and kept his dainty feet out of every snare 
and pitfall. 

Once, when the two cubs that hunted together were 
hard pinched with hunger, they found Old Tomah in 


9i 


The White Wolf's Hunting 

the twilight and followed him stealthily. The old Indian 
was swinging along, silent as a shadow of the woods, his 
gun on his shoulder and some skins on his back, heading 
swiftly for the little hut under the cliff, where he bur¬ 
rowed for the night as snug as a bear in his den. An 
old wolf would have known instantly the danger, for man 
alone bites at a distance; but the lop-eared cub, which 
was larger than his brother and therefore the leader, 
raised his head for the hunting cry. The first yap had 
hardly left his throat when the thunder roared, and 
something seared the wolf’s side like a hot iron. The 
cubs vanished like the smoke from the old gun. Then 
the Indian came swiftly back on the trail, peering about 
with hawk eyes to see the effect of his shot. 

“ By cosh! miss um dat time. Mus’ be powder no 
good.” Then, as he read the plain record in the snow, 
“ One, — by cosh! two hwulf, lil fool hwulf, follow my 
footin’. Mus’ be more, come soon pretty quick now; 
else he don’ howl dat way. Guess mebbe ol’ Injun 
better stay in house nights.” And he trailed warily 
back to hide himself behind a rock and watch till dark 
in front of his little commoosie. 

Old Tomah’s sleep was sound as usual that night; so 
he could not see the five shadows that stole out of the 
woods, nor hear the light footfalls that circled his camp, 
nor feel the breath, soft as an eddy of wind in a spruce 
top, that whiffed at the crack under his door and drifted 


92 


Northern Trails . Book I 


away again. Next morning he saw the tracks and under¬ 
stood them; and as he trailed away through the still 
woods he was wondering, in his silent Indian way, why^ 
an old wolf should always bring Malsunsis, the cub, for 
a good look and a sniff at anything that he is to avoid 
ever after. 

When all else fails follow the caribou, — that is the 
law which governs the wolf in the hungry days; but 
before they crossed the mountains and followed the long 
valleys to the far southern ranges the wolves went back 
to the hills, where the trail began, for a more exciting 
and dangerous kind of hunting. The pack had held 
closer together of late; for the old wolves must often 
share even a scant fox or rabbit with the hungry and 
inexperienced youngsters. Now, when famine drove 
them to the very doors of the one enemy to be feared, 
only the wisest and wariest old wolf was fit to lead 
the foray. 

The little fishing village was buried under drifts and 
almost deserted. A few men lingered to watch the boats 
and houses; but the families had all gone inland to the 
winter tilts for wood and shelter. By night the wolves 
would come stealthily to prowl among the deserted lanes; 
and the fishermen, asleep in their clothes under caribou 
skins, or sitting close by the stove behind barred doors, 
would know nothing of the huge, gaunt forms that flitted 
noiselessly past the frosted windows. If a pig were left 


93 


The White Wolf's Hunting 

in his pen a sudden terrible squealing would break out 
on the still night; and when the fisherman rushed 
out the pen would be empty, with nothing whatever to 
account for piggie’s disappearance. For to their un¬ 
trained eyes even the tracks of the wolves were covered 
up by those of the numerous big huskies. If a cat 
prowled abroad, or an uneasy dog scratched to be let 
out, there would be a squall, a yelp, — and the cat would 
not come back, and the dog would never scratch at the 
door to be let in again. 

Only when nothing stirred in the village, when the 
dogs and cats had been spirited away, and when not even 
a rat stole from under the houses to gnaw at a fishbone, 
would the fishermen know of their big silent visitors. 
Then the wolves would gather on a snow-drift just out¬ 
side the village and raise a howl, a frightful wail of 
famine and disappointment, that made the air shudder. 
From within the houses the dogs answered with mad 
clamor. A door would open to show first a long seal 
gun, then a fisherman, then a fool dog that darted be¬ 
tween the fisherman’s legs and capered away, ki-yi-ing 
a challenge to the universe. A silence, tense as a 
bowstring; a sudden yelp — Hui-hui , as the fisherman 
whistled to the dog that was being whisked away over 
the snow with a grip on his throat that prevented any 
answer; then the fisherman would wait and call in vain, 
and shiver, and go back to the fire again. 


94 


Northern Trails . Book I 


Almost every pleasant day a train of dogs would 
leave the village and go far back on the hills to haul 
fire-wood, or poles for the new fish-flakes. The wolves, 
watching from their old den, would follow at a distance to 
pick up a careless dog that ventured away from the fire 
to hunt rabbits when his harness was taken off. Occa¬ 
sionally a solitary wood-chopper would start with sud¬ 
den alarm as a big white form glided into sight, and the 
alarm would be followed by genuine terror as he found 
himself surrounded by five huge wolves that sat on 
their tails watching him curiously. Gripping his ax he 
would hurry back to call his companions and harness 
the dogs and hurry back to the village before the early 
darkness should fall upon them. As the komatik went 
careering over the snow, the dogs yelping and straining 
at the harness, the men running alongside shouting 
Hi-hi and cracking their whips, they could still see, 
over their shoulders, the wolves following lightly close 
behind; but when they rushed breathless into their 
houses, and grabbed their guns, and ran back on the 
trail, there was nothing to be seen. For the wolves, 
quick as light to feel the presence of danger, were 
already far away, trotting swiftly up the frozen arm 
of the harbor, following another sledge trail which 
came down that morning from the wilderness. 

That same night the wolves appeared silently in the 
little lodge, far up the Southeast Brook, where in a 


95 


The White Wolf's Hunting 

sheltered hollow of the hills the fishermen’s families were 
sleeping away the bitter winter. Here for one long 
night they watched and waited in vain; for every liv¬ 
ing thing was safe in the tilts behind barred doors. In 
the morning little Noel’s eyes kindled as he saw the 
wolves’ tracks; and when they came back again the tilts 
were watching. As the lop-eared cub darted after a cat 
that shot like a ray of moonlight under a cabin, a win¬ 
dow opened noiselessly, and zing! a bowstring twanged 
its sharp warning in the tense silence. With a yelp the 
wolf tore the arrow from his shoulder. The warm blood 
followed the barb, and he lapped it eagerly in his 
hunger. Then, as the danger swept over him, he gave 
the trail cry and darted away. Doors banged open here 
and there; dogs barked to crack their throats; seal guns 
roared out and sent their heavy echoes crashing like 
thunder among the hills. Silence fell again over the 
lodge; and there were left only a few frightened dogs 
whose noses had already told them everything, a few 
fishermen who watched and listened, and one Indian boy 
with a long bow in his hand and an arrow ready on the 
string, who trailed away with a little girl at his side try¬ 
ing to puzzle out the track of one wolf that left a drop of 
blood here and there on the snow in the scant moonlight. 

Far up on the hillside in a little opening of the woods 
the scattered pack came together again. At the first up¬ 
roar, so unbearable to a silence-loving animal, they had 


96 


Northern Trails. Book I 


vanished in five different directions; yet so subtle, so 
perfect is the instinct which holds a wolf family together 
that the old mother had scarcely entered the glade alone 
and sat down to wait and listen when the other wolves 
joined her silently. Malsunsis, the big cub, scarcely felt 
his wound at first, for the arrow had but glanced through 
the thick skin and flesh, and he had torn it out without 
difficulty; but the old he-wolf limped painfully and held 
up one fore leg, pierced by a seal shot, as he loped away 
over the snow. 

It was their first rough experience with men, and 
probably the one feeling in every shaggy head was of 
puzzled wonder as to how and why it had all happened. 
Hitherto they had avoided men with a certain awe, or 
watched them curiously at a distance, trying to under¬ 
stand their superior ways; and never a hostile feeling 
for the masters of the woods had found place in a wolf’s 
breast. Now man had spoken at last; his voice was a 
brutal command to be gone, and curiously enough these 
powerful big brutes, any one of which could have pulled 
down a man more easily than a caribou, never thought 
of questioning the order. 

It was certainly time to follow the caribou — that was 
probably the one definite purpose that came upon the 
wolves, sitting in a silent, questioning circle in the 
moonlight, with only the deep snows and the empty 
woods around them. For a week they had not touched 


97 


The White Wolf's Hunting 

food; for thrice that time they had not fed full, and a 
few days more would leave them unable to cope with 
the big caribou, which are always full fed and strong, 
thanks to nature’s abundance of deer moss on the bar¬ 
rens. So they started as by a single impulse, and the 
mother wolf led them swiftly southward, hour after hour 
at a tireless pace, till the great he-wolf weakened and 
turned aside to nurse his wounded fore leg. The lop- 
eared cub drew out of the race at the same time. His 
own wound now required the soft massage of his tongue 
to allay the fever; and besides, the fear that was born in 
him, one night long ago, and that had slept ever since, 
was now awake again, and for the first time he was 
afraid to face the famine and the wilderness alone. So 
the pack swept on, as if their feet would never tire, and 
the two wounded wolves crept into the scrub and lay 
down together. 

A strange, terrible feeling stole swiftly over the 
covert, which had always hitherto been a place of rest 
and quiet content. The cub was licking his wound 
softly when he looked up in sudden alarm, and there 
was the great he-wolf looking at him hungrily, with a 
frightful flare in his green eyes. The cub moved away 
startled and tried to soothe his wound again; but the 
uncanny feeling was strong upon him still, and when he 
turned his head there was the big wolf, which had crept 
forward till he could see the cub behind a twisted spruce 


98 


Northern Trails. Book I 


root, watching him steadily with the same horrible stare 
in his unblinking eyes. The hackles rose up on the 
cub’s neck and a growl rumbled in his deep chest, for 
he knew now what it all meant. The smell of blood 
was in the air, and the old he-wolf, that had so often 
shared his kill to save the cubs, was now going crazy in 
his awful hunger. Another moment and there would have 
been a terrible duel in the scrub; but as the wolves 
sprang to their feet and faced each other some deep, 
unknown feeling stirred within them and they turned 
aside. The old wolf threw himself down heavily, facing 
away from the temptation, and the cub slipped aside to 
find another den, out of sight and smell of the huge 
leader, lest the scent of blood should overcome them 
again and cause them to fly at each other’s throats in 
uncontrollable fury. 

Next morning a queer thing happened, but not un¬ 
common under the circumstances among wolves and 
huskies. The cub was lying motionless, his head on 
his paws, his eyes wide open, when something stirred 
near him. A red squirrel came scampering through the 
scrub branches just under the thick coating of snow 
that filled all their tops. Slowly, carefully the young 
wolf gathered his feet under him, tense as a bowstring. 
As the squirrel whisked overhead the wolf leaped like a 
flash, caught him, and crushed him with a single grip. 
Then with the squirrel in his mouth he made his way 


99 


The White Wolf's Hunting 

back to where the big leader was lying, his head on his 
paws, his eyes turned aside. Slowly, warily the cub 
approached, with a friendly twist of his ears and head, 
till he laid the squirrel at the big wolf’s very nose, then 
drew back a step and lay with paws extended and tail 
thumping the leaves, watching till the tidbit was seized 
ravenously and crushed and bolted in a single mouthful. 
Next instant both wolves sprang to their feet and made 
their way out of the scrub together. 

They took up the trail of the pack where they had 
left it, and followed it ten hours, the cub at a swift trot, 
the old wolf loping along on three legs. Then a rest, 
and forward again, slower and slower, night after day in 
ever-failing strength, till on the edge of a great barren 
they stopped as if struck, trembling all over as the reek 
of game poured into their starving nostrils. 

Too weak now to kill or to follow the fleet caribou, 
they lay down in the snow waiting, their ears cocked, 
their noses questioning every breeze for its good news. 
Left to themselves the trail must end here, for they 
could go no farther; but somewhere ahead in the vast 
silent barren the cubs were trailing, and somewhere 
beyond them the old mother wolf was laying her am¬ 
bush.— Hark! from a spur of the valley, far below on 
their left, rang out the food cry, singing its way in the 
frosty air over woods and plains, and hurrying back 
over the trail to tell those who had fallen by the way 


IOO 


Northern Trails. Book I 


that they were not forgotten. And when they leaped 
up, as at an electric shock, and raced for the cry, there 
were the cubs and the mother wolf, their hunger already 
satisfied, and there in the snow a young bull caribou to 
save them. 

So the long, hard winter passed away, and spring 
came again with its abundance. Grouse drummed a 
welcome in the woods; the honk of wild geese filled 
the air with a joyous clangor, and in every open pool 
the ducks were quacking. No need now to cling like 
shadows to the herds of caribou, and no further need 
for the pack to hold together. The ties that held them 
melted like snows in the sunny hollows. First the old 
wolves, then the cubs, one by one drifted away whither 
the game or their new mates were calling them. When 
the summer came there was another den on the high 
hill overlooking the harbor, where the little brown cubs 
could look down with wonder at the shining sea and 
the slow fishing-boats and the children playing on the 
shore; but the wolves whose trail began there were far 
away over the mountains, following their own ways, 
waiting for the crisp hunting cry that should bring 
them again together. 









OI 














said Mooka, shivering. 

No need of the question, startling and ter¬ 


rible as it was from the lips of a child astray 
in the vast solitudes; for a great gale had 
swooped down from the Arctic, blotting out in clouds 
of whirling snow the world of plain and mountain and 
forest that, a moment before, had stretched wide and still 
before the little hunters’ eyes. 

For an hour or more, running like startled deer, they 
had tried to follow their own snow-shoe trail back over 
the wide barrens into the friendly woods; but already 
the snow had filled it brim full, and whatever faint trace 
was left of the long raquettes was caught’up by the gale 
and whirled away with a howl of exultation. Before 
them as they ran every trail of wolf and caribou and 
snow-shoe, and every distant landmark, had vanished; 

103 



104 


Northern Trails. Book I 


the world was but a chaos of mad rolling snow clouds; 
and behind them — Their stout little hearts trembled as 
they saw not a vestige of the trail they had just made. 
With the great world itself, their own little tracks, as 
fast as they made them, were swept and blotted out of 
existence. Like two sparrows that had dropped blinded 
and bewildered on the vast plain out of the snow cloud, 
they huddled together without one friendly sign to tell 
them whence they had come or whither they were 
going. Worst of all, the instinct of direction, which 
often guides an Indian through the still fog or the 
darkest night, seemed benumbed by the cold and the 
tumult; and not even Old Tomah himself could have 
told north or south in the blinding storm. 

Still they ran on bravely, bending to the fierce blasts, 
heading the wind as best they could, till Mooka, trip¬ 
ping a second time in a little hollow where a brook ran 
deep under the snow, and knowing now that they were 
but wandering in an endless circle, seized Noel’s arm 
and repeated her question: 

“ Are we lost, little brother? ” 

And Noel, lost and bewildered, but gripping his bow 
in his fur mitten and peering here and there, like an old 
hunter, through the whirling flakes and rolling gusts to 
catch some landmark, some lofty crag or low tree-line 
that held steady in the mad dance of the world, still 
made confident Indian answer: 


Trails that Cross in the Snow 105 

“ Noel not lost; Noel right here. Camp lost, little 
sister.” 

“ Can we find um, little brother ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, we find um. Find um bimeby, pretty soon 
quick now, after storm.” 

“ But storm last all night, and it’s soon dark. Can we 
rest and not freeze ? Mooka tired and — and frightened, 
little brother.” 

“ Sartin we rest; build um commoosie and sleep jus’ 
like bear in his den. Oh, yes, sartin we rest good,” said 
Noel cheerfully. 

“And the wolves, little brother?” whispered Mooka, 
looking back timidly into the wild waste out of which 
they had come. 

“Never mind hwolves; nothing hunts in storm, little 
sister. Come on, we must find um woods now.” 

For one brief moment the little hunter stood with 
upturned face, while Mooka bowed her head silently, 
and the great storm rolled unheeded over them. Still 
holding his long bow he stretched both hands to the 
sky in the mute appeal that Keesuolukh , the Great 
Mystery whom we call God, would understand better 
than all words. Then turning their backs to the gale 
they drifted swiftly away before it, like two wind-blown 
leaves, running to keep from freezing, and holding each 
other’s hands tight lest they separate and be lost by 
the way. 



106 Northern Trails. Book I 

The second winter had come, sealing up the gloomy 
land till it rang like iron at the touch, then covering it 
deep with snow and polishing its mute white face with 
hoar-frost and hail driven onward by the fierce Arctic 
gales. An appalling silence rested on plains and moun¬ 
tains. Not a chirp, not a rustle broke the intense, 
unnatural stillness. One might travel all day long with¬ 
out a sight or sound of life; and when the early twilight 
came and life stirred shyly from its coverts and snow 
caves, the Wood Folk stole out into the bare white 
world on noiseless, hesitating feet, as if in presence of 
the dead. 

When the Moon of Famine came, the silence was 
rudely broken. Before daylight one morning, when the 
air was so tense and still that a whisper set it tinkling 
like silver bells, the rallying cry of the wolves rolled 
down from a mountain top; and the three cubs, that 
had waited long for the signal, left their separate trails 
far away and hurried to join the old leader. 

When the sun rose that morning one who stood on 
the high ridge of the Top Gallants, far to the eastward 
of Harbor Weal, would have seen seven trails winding 
down among the ’rocks and thickets. It needed only a 
glance to show that the seven trails, each one as clear- 
cut and delicate as that of a prowling fox, were the 
records of wolves’ cautious feet; and that they were no 
longer beating the thickets for grouse and rabbits, but 




Trails that Cross in the Snow 107 

moving swiftly all together for the edges of the vast 
barrens where the caribou herds were feeding. Another 
glance — but here we must have the cunning eyes of 
Old Tomah the hunter — would have told that two of 
the trails were those of enormous wolves which led the 
pack; two others were plainly cubs that had not yet 
lost the cub trick of frolicking in the soft snow; while 
three others were just wolves, big and powerful brutes 
that moved as if on steel springs, and that still held to 
the old pack because the time had not yet come for 
them to scatter finally ‘to their separate ways and head 
new packs of their own in the great solitudes. 

Out from the woods on the other side of the barren 
came two snow-shoe trails, which advanced with short 
steps and rested lightly on the snow, as if the makers of 
the trails were little people whose weight on the snow- 
shoes made hardly more impression than the broad pads 
of Moktaques the rabbit. They followed stealthily the 
winding records of a score of caribou that had wan¬ 
dered like an eddying wind all over the barren, stopping 
here and there to paw great holes in the snow for the 
caribou moss that covered all the earth beneath. Out at 
the end of the trail two Indian children, a girl and a 
boy, stole along with noiseless steps, scanning the wide 
wastes for a cloud of mist — the frozen breath that 
hovers over a herd of caribou — or peering keenly into 
the edges of the woods for vague white shapes moving 


108 Northern Trails . Book I 

like shadows among the trees. So they moved on 
swiftly, silently, till the boy stopped with a startled 
exclamation, whipped out a long arrow with a barbed 
steel point, and laid it ready across his bow. For at his 
feet was another light trail, the trail of a wolf pack, that 
crossed his own, moving straight and swift across the 
barren toward the unseen caribou. 

Just in front, as the boy stopped, a slight motion 
broke the even white surface that stretched away silent 
and lifeless on every side, — a motion so faint and 
natural that Noel’s keen eyes, sweeping the plain and 
the edges of the distant woods, never noticed it. A 
vagrant wind, which had been wandering and moaning 
all morning as if lost, seemed to stir the snow T and settle 
to rest again. But now, where the plain seemed most 
empty and lifeless, seven great white wolves crouched 
down in the snow in a little hollow, their paws extended, 
their hind legs bent like powerful springs beneath them, 
their heads raised cautiously so that only their ears and 
eyes showed above the rim of the little hollow where 
they hid. So they lay, tense, alert, ready, watching 
with eager, inquisitive eyes the two children drawing 
steadily nearer, the only sign of life in the whole wide, 
desolate landscape. 

Follow the back trail of the snow-shoes now, while 
the wolves are waiting, and it leads you over the great 


Trails that Cross in the Snow 109 

barren into the gloomy spruce woods; beyond that it 
crosses two more barrens and stretches of intervening 
forest; then up a great hill and down into a valley, 
where the lodge lay hidden, buried deep under New¬ 
foundland snows. 

Here the fishermen lived, sleeping away the bitter 
winter. In the late autumn they had left the fishing 
village at Harbor Weal, driven out like the wild ducks 
by the fierce gales that raged over the whole coast. 
With their abundant families and scant provisions they 
had followed the trail up the Southwest Brook till it 
doubled around the mountain and led into a great 
silent wood, sheltered on every side by the encircling 
hills. Here the tilts were built with double walls, filled 
in between with leaves and moss, to help the little 
stoves that struggled bravely with the terrible cold; 
and the roofs were covered over with poles and bark, 
or with the brown sails that had once driven the fishing- 
boats out and in on the wings of the gale. The high 
mountains on the west stood between them and the icy 
winds that swept down over the sea from the Labrador 
and the Arctic wastes; wood in abundance was at their 
doors, and the trout-stream that sang all day long under 
its bridges of snow and ice was always ready to brim 
their kettles out of its abundance. 

So the new life began pleasantly enough; but as the 
winter wore away and provisions grew scarce and game 


I IO 


Northern Trails. Book I 


vanished from the coverts, they all felt the fearful pinch 
of famine. Every morning now a confused circle of 
tracks in the snow showed where the wild prowlers of 
the woods had come and sniffed at the very doors of the 
tilts in their ravening hunger. 

Noel’s father and Old Tomah were far away, trapping, 
in the interior; and to Noel with his snares and his 
bow and arrows fell the pleasant task of supplying the 
family’s need when the stock of dried fish melted away. 
On this March morning he had started with Mooka at 
daylight to cross the mountains to some great barrens 
where he had found tracks and knew that a few herds 
of caribou were still feeding. The sun was dimmed as it 
rose, and the sun-dogs gave mute warning of the coming 
storm; but the cupboard was empty at home, and even a 
little hunter thinks first of the game he is following and 
lets the storm take care of itself. So they hurried on un¬ 
heeding, — Noel with his bow and arrows, Mooka with a 
little bag containing a loaf and a few dried caplin, — peer¬ 
ing under every brush pile for the shining eyes of a rab¬ 
bit, and picking up one big grouse and a few ptarmigan 
among the bowlders of a great bare hillside. On the 
edges of the great barren under the Top Gallants they 
found the fresh tracks of feeding caribou, and were follow¬ 
ing eagerly when they ran plump into the wolf trail. 

Now by every law of the chase the game belonged 
to these earlier hunters; and by every power in their 


Trails that Cross in the Snow 


111 


gaunt, famished bodies the wolves meant to have it. So 
said the trail. Every stealthy advance in single file across 
the open, every swift rush over the hollows that might 
hide them from eyes watching back from the distant 
woods, showed the wolves’ purpose clear as daylight; and 
had Noel been wiser he would have read a warning from 
the snow and turned aside. But he only drew his longest, 
keenest arrow and pressed on more eagerly than before. 

The two trails had crossed each other at last. Begin¬ 
ning near together, one on the mountains, the other by 
the sea, they had followed their separate devious ways, 
now far apart in the glad bright summer, now drawing 
together in the moonlight of the winter’s night. At 
times the makers of the trails had watched each other 
in secret, shyly, inquisitively, at a distance; but always 
fear or cunning had kept them apart, the boy with 
his keen hunter’s interest baffled and whetted by the 
brutes’ wariness, and the wolves drawn to the superior 
being by that subtle instinct that once made glad 
hunting-dogs and collies of the wild rangers of the 
plains, and that still leads a wolf to follow and watch the 
doings of men with intense curiosity. Now the trails 
had met fairly in the snow, and a few steps more would 
bring the boy and the wolf face to face. 

Noel was stealing along warily, his arrow ready on 
the string. Mooka beside him was watching a faint 


I 12 


Northern Trails. Book I 


cloud of mist, the breath of caribou, that blurred at 
times the dark tree-line in the distance, when one of 
those mysterious warnings that befall the hunter in the 
far North rested upon them suddenly like a heavy hand. 

I know not what it is, — what lesser pressure of air, 
to which we respond like a barometer; or what unknown 
chords there are within us that sleep for years in the 
midst of society and that waken and answer, like an 
animal’s, to the subtle influence of nature, — but one 
can never be watched by an unseen wild animal without 
feeling it vaguely; and one can never be so keen on the 
trail that the storm, before it breaks, will not whisper a 
warning to turn back to shelter before it is too late. To 
Noel and Mooka, alone on the barrens, the sun was no 
dimmer than before; the heavy gray bank of clouds still 
held sullenly to its place on the horizon; and no eyes, 
however keen, would have noticed the tiny dark spots 
that centered and glowed upon them over the rim of the 
little hollow where the wolves were watching. Neverthe¬ 
less, a sudden chill fell upon them both. They stopped 
abruptly, shivering a bit, drawing closer together and 
scanning the waste keenly to know what it all meant. 

“ Mitcheegeesookh, the storm!” said Noel sharply; and 
without another word they turned and hurried back on 
their own trail. In a short half-hour the world would be 
swallowed up in chaos. To be caught out on the bar¬ 
rens meant to be lost; and to be lost here without fire 


Trails that Cross in the Snow 113 

and shelter meant death, swift and sure. So they ran on, 
hoping to strike the woods before the blizzard burst 
upon them. 

They were scarcely half-way to shelter when the 
white flakes began to whirl around them. With start¬ 
ling, terrible swiftness the familiar world vanished; the 
guiding trail was blotted out, and nothing but a wolf’s 
instinct could have held a straight course in the blind¬ 
ing fury of the storm. Still they held on bravely, trying 
in vain to keep their direction by the eddying winds, till 
Mooka stumbled twice at the same hollow over a hidden 
brook, and they knew they were running blindly in a cir¬ 
cle of death. Frightened at the discovery they turned, 
as the caribou do, keeping their backs steadily to the 
winds, and drifted slowly away down the long barren. 

Hour after hour they struggled on, hand in hand, 
without a thought of where they were going. Twice 
Mooka fell and lay still, but was dragged to her feet 
and hurried onward again. The little hunter’s own 
strength was almost gone, when a low moan rose 
steadily above the howl and hiss of the gale. It was 
the spruce woods, bending their tops to the blast and 
groaning at the strain. With a wild whoop Noel 
plunged forward, and the next instant they were safe 
within the woods. All around them the flakes sifted 
steadily, silently down into the thick covert, while the 
storm passed with a great roar over their heads. 


114 Northern Trails. Book I 

In the lee of a low-branched spruce they stopped 
again, as though by a common impulse, while Noel 
lifted his hands. “ Thanks, thanks, Keesuolukh ; we can 
take care of ourselves now,” the brave little heart was 
singing under the upstretched arms. Then they tum¬ 
bled into the snow and lay for a moment utterly relaxed, 
like two tired animals, in that brief, delicious rest which 
follows a terrible struggle with the storm and cold. 

First they ate a little of their bread and fish to keep 
up their spirits; then — for the storm that was upon 
them might last for days — they set about preparing 
a shelter. With a little search, whooping to each other 
lest they stray away, they found a big dry stub that 
some gale had snapped off a few feet above the snow. 
While Mooka scurried about, collecting birch bark and 
armfuls of dry branches, Noel took off his snow-shoes 
and began with one of them to shovel away the snow in 
a semicircle around the base of the stub. In a short half- 
hour he had a deep hole there, with the snow banked 
up around it to the height of his head. Next with his 
knife he cut a lot of light poles and scrub spruces and, 
sticking the butts in his snowbank, laid the tops, like 
the sticks of a wigwam, firmly against the big stub. A 
few armfuls of spruce boughs shingled over this roof, 
and a few minutes’ work shoveling snow thickly upon 
them to hold them in place and to make a warm cover¬ 
ing; then a doorway, or rather a narrow tunnel, just 


Trails that Cross in the Snow 115 

beyond the stub on the straight side of the semicircle, 
and their commoosie was all ready. Let the storm roar 
and the snow sift down! The thicker it fell the warmer 
would be their shelter. They laughed and shouted now 
as they scurried out and in, bringing boughs for a bed 
and the fire-wood which Mooka had gathered. 

Against the base of the dry stub they built their fire, 
— a wee, sociable little fire such as an Indian always 
builds, which is far better than a big one, for it draws 
you near and welcomes you cheerily, instead of driving 
you away by its smoke and great heat. Soon the big 
stub itself began to burn, glowing steadily with a heat 
that filled the snug little commoosie , while the smoke 
found its way out of the hole in the roof which Noel 
had left for that purpose. Later the stub burned 
through to its hollow center, and then they had a 
famous chimney, which soon grew hot and glowing 
inside, and added its mite to the children’s comfort. 

Noel and Mooka were drowsy now; but before the 
long night closed in upon them they had gathered more 
wood, and laid aside some wisps of birch bark to use 
when they should wake, cold and shivering, and find 
their little fire gone out and the big stub losing its 
cheery glow. Then they lay down to rest, and the 
night and the storm rolled on unheeded. 

Towards morning they fell into a heavy sleep; for 
the big stub began to burn more freely as the wind 


116 Northern Trails. Book I 

changed, and they need not stir every half-hour to feed 
their little fire and keep from freezing. It was broad 
daylight, the storm had ceased, and a woodpecker was 
hammering loudly on a hollow shell over their heads 
when they started up, wondering vaguely where they 
were. Then while Noel broke out of the commoosie, 
which was fairly buried under the snow, to find out 
where he was, Mooka rebuilt the fire and plucked a 
ptarmigan and set it to toasting with the last of their 
bread over the coals. 

Noel came back soon with a cheery whoop to tell the 
little cook that they had drifted before the storm down 
the whole length of the great barren, and were camped 
now on the opposite side, just under the highest ridge 
of the Top Gallants. There was not a track on the 
barrens, he said; not a sign of wolf or caribou, which 
had probably wandered deeper into the woods for 
shelter. So they ate their bread to the last crumb and 
their bird to the last bone, and, giving up all thought 
of hunting, started up the big barren, heading for the 
distant Lodge, where they had long since been given 
up for lost. 

They had crossed the barren and a mile of thick 
woods beyond when they ran into the fresh trail of a 
dozen caribou. Following it swiftly they came to the 
edge of a much smaller barren that they had crossed 
yesterday, and saw at a glance that the trail stretched 


Trails that Cross in the Snow 117 

straight across it. Not a caribou was in sight; but they 
might nevertheless be feeding, or resting in the woods 
just beyond; and for the little hunters to show them¬ 
selves now in the open would mean that they would 
become instantly the target for every keen eye that was 
watching the back trail. So they started warily to circle 
the barren, keeping just within the fringe of woods 
out of sight. 

They had gone scarcely a hundred steps when Noel 
whipped out a long arrow and pointed silently across 
the open. From the woods on the other side the cari¬ 
bou had broken out of a dozen tunnels under the spruces, 
and came trotting back in their old trails, straight down¬ 
wind to where the little hunters were hiding. 

The deer were acting queerly,— now plunging away 
with the high, awkward jumps that caribou use when 
startled; now swinging off on their swift, tireless rack, 
and before they had settled to their stride halting sud¬ 
denly to look back and wag their ears at the trail. For 
Megaleep is full of curiosity as a wild turkey, and 
always stops to get a little entertainment out of every 
new thing that does not threaten him with instant 
death. Then out of the woods behind them trotted 
five white wolves, — not hunting, certainly! for when¬ 
ever the caribou stopped to look the wolves sat down 
on their tails and yawned. One lay down and rolled 
over and over in the soft snow; another chased and 


ii8 Northern Trails. Book I 

capered after his own brush, whirling round and round 
like a little whirlwind, and the shrill ki-yi of a cub wolf 
playing came faintly across the barren. 

It was a strange scene, yet one often witnessed on 
the lonely plains of the far North: the caribou halting, 
running away, and halting again to look back and 
watch the queer antics of their big enemies, which 
seemed now so playful and harmless; the cunning 
wolves playing on the game’s curiosity at every turn, 
knowing well that if once frightened the deer would 
break away at a pace which would make pursuit 
hopeless. So they followed rather than drove the 
foolish deer across the barren, holding them with 
monkey tricks and kitten’s capers, and restraining with 
an iron grip their own fearful hunger and the blind 
impulse to rush in headlong and have it all quickly over. 

Kneeling behind a big spruce, Noel was trying nerv¬ 
ously the spring and temper of his long bow, divided 
in desire between the caribou, which they needed sadly 
at home, and one of the great wolves whose death would 
give him a place among the mighty hunters, when 
Mooka clutched his arm, her eyes snapping with excite¬ 
ment, her finger pointing silently back on their own 
trail. A vague shadow glided swiftly among the trees. 
An enormous white wolf appeared, vanished came near 
them again, and crouched down under a low spruce 
branch waiting. 


Trails that Cross in the Snow 119 

Again the two trails had crossed in the snow. The big 
wolf as he appeared had thrust his nose into the snow- 
shoe tracks, and a sniff or two told him everything, — 
who had passed, and how long ago, and what they were 
doing, and how far ahead they were now waiting. But 
the caribou were coming, coaxed along marvelously by 
the cubs and the old mother; and the great silent wolf, 
that had left the pack playing with the game while he 
circled the barren at top speed, now turned to the busi¬ 
ness in hand with no thought nor fear of harm from the 
two children whom he had watched but yesterday. 

Not so Noel. The fire blazed out in his eyes; the 
long bow swung to the wolf, bending like a steel spring, 
and the feathered shaft of an arrow lay close against the 
boy’s cheek. But Mooka caught his arm — 

“ Look, Noel, his ear! Malsunsis , my little wolf cub,” 
she breathed excitedly. And Noel, with a great wonder 
in his eyes, slacked his bow, while his thoughts jumped far 
away to the den on the mountains where the trail began, 
and to three little cubs playing like kittens with the grass¬ 
hoppers and the cloud shadows; for the great wolf that 
lay so still near them, his eyes fixed in a steady glow upon 
the coming caribou, had one ear bent sharply forward, 
like a leaf that has been creased between the fingers. 

Again Mooka broke the tense silence in a low whis¬ 
per. “ How many wolf trails you see yesterday, little 
brother ? ” 


120 


Northern Trails . Book I 


“Seven,” said Noel, whose eyes already had the cun¬ 
ning of Old Tomah’s to understand everything. 

“ Then where tother wolf ? Only six here,” breathed 
Mooka, looking timidly all around, fearing to find the 
steady glare of green eyes fixed upon them from the 
shadow of every thicket. 

Noel stirred uneasily. Somewhere close at hand 
another huge wolf was waiting; and a wholesome 
fear fell upon him, with a shiver at the thought of 
how near he had come in his excitement to bringing 
the whole savage pack snarling about his ears. 

A snort of alarm cut short his thinking. There at 
the edge of the wood, not twenty feet away, stood a 
caribou, pointing his ears at the children whom he had 
almost stumbled over as he ran, thinking only of the 
wolves behind. The long bow sprang back of itself; 
an arrow buzzed like a wasp and buried itself deep in 
the white chest. Like a flash a second arrow followed 
as the stag turned away, and with a jump or two he 
sank to his knees, as if to rest awhile in the snow. 

But Mooka scarcely saw these things. Her eyes were 
fastened on the great white wolf which she had claimed 
for her own when he was a toddling cub. He lay still 
as a stone under the tip of a bending spruce branch, his 
eyes following every motion of a young bull caribou 
which three of the wolves had singled out of the herd 
and were now guiding surely straight to his hiding-place. 


Trails that Cross in the Snow 


121 


The snort and plunge of the smitten animal startled 
this young stag and he turned aside from his course. 
Like a shadow the big wolf that Mooka was watching 
changed his place so as to head the game, while two of 
the pack on the open barrens slipped around the caribou 
and turned him back again to the woods. At the edge of 
the cover the stag stopped for a last look, pointing his 
ears first at Noel’s caribou, which now lay very still in 
the snow, then at the wolves, which with quick instinct 
had singled him out of the herd, knowing in some 
subtle way he was watched from beyond, and which 
gathered about him in a circle, sitting on their tails and 
yawning. Slowly, silently Mooka’s wolf crept forward, 
pushing his great body through the snow. A terrific 
rush, a quick snap under the stag’s chest just behind the 
fore legs, where the heart lay; then the big wolf leaped 
aside and sat down quietly again to watch. 

It was soon finished. The stag plunged away, settled 
into his long rack, slowed down to a swaying, weaken¬ 
ing trot. After him at a distance glided the big wolf, 
lapping eagerly at the crimson trail, but holding him¬ 
self with tremendous will power from rushing in head¬ 
long and driving the game, which might run for miles 
if too hard pressed. The stag sank to his knees; a 
sharp yelp rang like a pistol-shot through the still 
woods; then the pack rolled in like a whirlwind, and 
it was all over. 


122 


Northern Trails. Book I 


Creeping near on the trail the little hunters crouched 
under a low spruce, watching as if fascinated the wild 
feast of the wolves. Noel’s bow was ready in his hand; 
but luckily the sight of these huge, powerful brutes 
overwhelmed him and drove all thoughts of killing out 
of his head. Mooka plucked him by the sleeve at last, 
and pointed silently homewards. It was surely time to 
go, for the biggest wolf had already stretched himself 
and was licking his paws, while the two cubs with full 
stomachs were rolling over and over and biting each 
other playfully in the snow. Silently they stole away, 
stopping only to tie a rag to a pointed stick, which they 
thrust between their own caribou’s ribs to make the 
wolves suspicious and keep them from tearing the 
game and eating the tidbits while the little hunters 
hurried away to bring the men with their guns and 
dog sledges. 

They had almost crossed the second barren when 
Mooka, looking back uneasily from the edge of the 
woods, saw a single big wolf emerge across the barren 
and follow swiftly on their trail. Startled at the sight, 
they turned swiftly to run; for that terrible feeling 
which sweeps over a hunter, when for the first time 
he finds himself hunted in his turn, had clutched their 
little hearts and crushed all their confidence. A sudden 
panic seized them; they rushed away for the woods, 
running side by side till they broke into the fringe 


Trails that Cross in the Snow 123 

of evergreen that surrounded the barren. There they 
dropped breathless under a low fir and turned to look. 

“It was wrong to run, little brother,” whispered Mooka. 

“ Why? ” said Noel. 

“ Cause Wayeeses see it, and think we ’fraid.” 

“ But I was ’fraid out there, little sister,” confessed 
Noel bravely. “ Here we can climb tree; good chance 
shoot um with my arrows.” 

Like two frightened rabbits they crouched under the 
fir, staring back with wild round eyes over the trail, 
fearing every instant to see the savage pack break out 
of the woods and come howling after them. But only 
the single big wolf appeared, trotting quietly along in 
their footsteps. Within bowshot he stopped with head 
raised, looking, listening intently. Then, as if he had 
seen them in their hiding, he turned aside, circled 
widely to the left, and entered the woods far below. 

Again the two little hunters hurried on through the 
silent, snow-filled woods, a strange disquietude settling 
upon them as they felt they were followed by unseen 
feet. Soon the feeling grew too strong to resist. Noel 
with his bow ready, and a strange chill trickling like 
cold water along his spine, was hiding behind a tree 
watching the back trail, when a low exclamation from 
Mooka made him turn. There behind them, not ten 
steps away, a huge white wolf was sitting quietly on his 
tail, watching them with absorbed, silent intentness. 


124 Northern Trails. Book I 

Fear and wonder, and swift memories of Old Tomah 
and the wolf that had followed him when he was lost, 
swept over Noel in a flood. He rose swiftly, the long 
bow bent, and again a deadly arrow cuddled softly 
against his cheek; but there were doubts and fears 
in his eye till Mooka caught his arm with a glad little 
laugh — 

“ My cub, little brother. See his ear, and oh, his tail! 
Watch um tail, little brother.” For at the first move the 
big wolf sprang alertly to his feet, looked deep into 
Mooka’s eyes with that intense, penetrating light which 
serves a wild animal to read your very thoughts, and 
instantly his great bushy tail was waving its friendly 
greeting. 

It was indeed Malsunsis, the cub. Before the great 
storm broke he had crouched with the pack in the 
hollow just in front of the little hunters; and although 
the wolves were hungry, it was with feelings of curiosity 
only that they watched the children, who seemed to the 
powerful brutes hardly more to be feared than a couple 
of ^snowbirds hopping across the vast barren. But they 
were children of men — that was enough for the white- 
wolf packs, which for untold years had never been 
known to molest a man. This morning Malsunsis had 
again crossed their trail. He had seen them lying in 
wait for the caribou that his own pack were driving; 
had seen Noel smite the bull, and was filled with 


Trails that Cross in the Snow 125 

wonder; but his own business kept him still in hiding. 
Now, well fed and good-natured, but more curious than 
ever, he had followed the trail of these little folk to learn 
something about them. 

Mooka as she watched him was brim full of an eager¬ 
ness which swept away all fear. “ Tomah says, wolf and 
Injun hunt just alike; keep ver’ still; don’t trouble 
game ’cept when he hungry,” she whispered. “ Says 
too, Keesuolukh made us friends ’fore white man come, 
spoil um everything. Das what Malsunsis say now 
wid hees tail and eyes; only way he can talk um, little 
brother. No, no,”—for Noel’s bow was still strongly 
bent, — “ you must not shoot. Malsunsis think we 
friends.” And trusting her own brave little heart she 
stepped in front of the deadly arrow and walked straight 
to the big wolf, which moved aside timidly and sat 
down again at a distance, with the friendly expression 
of a lost collie in eyes and ears and wagging tail tip. 

Cheerfully enough Noel slacked his long bow, for the 
wonder of the woods- was strong upon him, and the 
hunting-spirit, which leads one forth to frighten and 
kill and to break the blessed peace, had vanished in 
the better sense of comradeship which steals over one 
when he watches the Wood Folk alone and friendly 
in the midst of the solitudes. As they went on their 
way again the big wolf trotted after them, keeping close 
to their trail but never crossing it, and occasionally 


126 


Northern Trails . Book I 


ranging up alongside, as if to keep them in the right 
way. Where the woods were thickest Noel, with no 
trail to guide him, swung uncertainly to left and right, 
peering through the trees for some landmark on the 
distant hills. Twice the big wolf trotted out to one side, 
returned and trotted out again in the same direction; 
and Noel, taking the subtle hint, as an Indian always 
does, bore steadily to the right till the great ridge, 
beyond which the Lodge was hidden, loomed over the 
tree-tops. And to this day he believes — and it is 
impossible, for I have tried, to dissuade him — that the 
wolf knew where they were going and tried in his own 
way to show them. 

So they climbed the long ridge to the summit, and 
from the deep valley beyond the smoke of the Lodge rose 
up to guide them. There the wolf stopped; and though 
Noel whistled and Mooka called cheerily, as they 
would to one of their own huskies that they had learned 
to love, Malsunsis would go no farther. He sat there on 
the ridge, his tail sweeping a circle in the snow behind 
him, his ears cocked to the friendly call and his eyes 
following every step of the little hunters, till they van¬ 
ished in the woods below. Then he turned to follow 
his own way in the wilderness. 


GLOSSARY OF INDIAN NAMES 


Cheokhes, che-ok-hh ', the mink. 

Cheplahgan, chep-lah'gan, the-bald eagle. 

Ch’geegee-lokh-sis, ch'gee-gee'lock-sis, the chickadee. 

Chigwooltz, chig-woollz', the bullfrog. 

Cl6te Scarpe, a legendary hero, like Hiawatha, of the Northern Indians. 

Pronounced variously, Clote Scarpe, Groscap, Gluscap, etc. 
Commoosie, com-moo-sie ', a little shelter, or hut, of boughs and bark. 
Deedeeaskh, dee-dee'ask, the blue jay. 

Eleemos, el-ee'tnos , the fox. 

Hawahak, ha-wa-hak', the hawk. 

Hetokh, hgt'dkh , the deer. 

Hukweem, huk-wee7n\ the great northern diver, or loon. 

Ismaques, iss-ma-ques ', the fish-hawk. 

Kagax, kag'ax , the weasel. 

Kakagos, ka-ka-gos', the raven. 

K’dunk, k'dunk ', the toad. 

Keeokuskh, kee-o-kusk', the muskrat. 

Keeonekh, kee'o-nek, the otter. 

Keesuolukh, kee-su-d'luk, the Great Mystery, i.e. God. 

Killooleet, kil'loo-leet, the white-throated sparrow. 

Kookooskoos, koo-koo-skoos\ the great horned owl. 

Kopseep, kofi'seep, the salmon. 

Koskomenos, kos'kdm-e-7ios', the kingfisher. 

Kupkawis, cup-ka'wis, the barred owl. 

Kwaseekho, kwd-seek'ho , the sheldrake. 

Lhoks, locks , the panther. 

Malsun, 77tdrsu7i , the wolf. 

Malsunsis, 7nal-su7i'sis , the little wolf cub. 

Matwock, 77iat'wok, the white bear. 

Meeko, 77ieek'o , the red squirrel. 


127 


128 


Northern Trails. Book I 


Megaleep, meg'd-leep, the caribou. 

Milicete, mil'i-cete, the name of an Indian tribe ; written also Malicete. 
Mitchegeesookh, mitch-e-gee' sook, the snowstorm. 

Mitches, mit'ches , the birch partridge, or ruffed grouse. 

Moktaques, mok-ta'ques, the hare. 

Mooween, moo-ween', the black bear. 

Mooweesuk, moo-wee'suk, the coon. 

Musquash, inns'quash, the muskrat. 

Nemox, nem'ox , the fisher. 

Pekompf, pe-kompf, the wildcat. 

Pekquam, pek-wam', the fisher. 

Queokh, que'ok, the sea-gull. 

Quoskh, quoskh, the blue heron. 

Seksagadagee, sek'sd-ga-da'gee, the Canada grouse, or spruce partridge. 
Skooktum, skook'tum, the trout. 

Tookhees, tdk'hees, the wood-mouse. 

Umquenawis, um-que-na' wis, the moose. 

Unk Wunk, unk' wunk , the porcupine. 

Upweekis, up-week'iss , the Canada lynx. 

Waptonk, wap-tonk'’, the wild goose. 

Wayeesis, way-ee'sis , the white wolf, the strong one. 

Whitooweek, whit-oo-week', the woodcock. 

























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